<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640</id><updated>2011-04-22T00:09:29.603-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Head Trip - Rubbertoe.com</title><subtitle type='html'>I'm going to use this blog to keep track of any weird dreams or nightmares that I have.  I probably won't update it that much, but it might make for some interesting reading when I look back on it later.  Often I'll have recurring dreams, and sometimes they are pretty weird.  Most of them won't make sense, or even have a real "ending" to them, but I don't think I'll bother trying to explain any of them or the people involved...  just read and make your own conclusions.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>98</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-4576812180639923430</id><published>2009-03-02T14:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T15:13:33.225-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Compilation of Events</title><content type='html'>I was in some urban setting, during the day, walking around what appeared to be a college campus.  It was very busy, very dirty...  almost like something you'd expect to see in a movie about some seedy Mexican city or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in an alley along one of the main roads and I was trying to meet up with Pam, and old friend of mine from high school.  While I was talking to her on a pay phone, I saw someone in one of the upper floors of a building on the main street come to the window and start yelling to me that my girlfriend was watching, so I had better look out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouted back that I wasn't doing anything wrong, but the lady just kept yelling &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Your girlfriend is watching you!"&lt;/span&gt;  Nick was with me at this point, and I turned to him and said that I didn't understand what the problem was, because I wasn't doing anything wrong.  We both looked around at all of the open windows on the multi-story buildings, trying to see if she was indeed watching me, but we didn't see her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started walking down the alley, away from the apartment buildings, and ended up walking through a slightly secluded area between some of the school buildings.  At this point it was starting to get dark, and we noticed a suspicious looking guy walking towards us on the sidewalk.  Nick said to me that the guy looked like trouble, and I agreed and said it looked like he had a gun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nick was walking ahead of me by about 10 feet, and sure enough - as soon as Nick started to go past this guy, he pulled out a gun and started shooting.  Nick dove to the ground and rolled towards some bushes for protection, and I came around the corner and shouted at the guy - which made him stop shooting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was distracted by me, and then Nick made a lunge towards him, which allowed me to run at him and grab the gun.  I wasn't able to get it away from him, but I did have enough control that he wasn't able to aim it at me or Nick.  So instead, the crazy guy puts the gun in his mouth and tries to pull the trigger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to talk to him and convince him to give me the gun, just as a team of police and EMS people showed up.  He said he was going to tell the people that he had a gun, but that I took it away from him, but I convinced him to just act like he was sick...  and they took him away, with me being able to tuck the gun into my pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The police didn't realize that Nick and I were involved in this potential shooting event, so we were able to head down the road without having to answer any questions.  Once we hit the main road, once again someone in the upper floors of the apartment buildings started shouting.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"They're coming!  They're coming!"&lt;/span&gt; was all we heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We turned to look over our shoulders and noticed a large hill or mountain, with search lights from helicopters being visible even though the helicopters were not yet.  We started running down the street, away from the helicopters, until we made our way to a large abandoned apartment building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And actually, it wasn't completely abandoned...  because there were people living in some of the units, even though the building wasn't suitable for living in.  We got into one of the hallways and heard some noises coming from inside one of the nearby units.  I used a claw hammer to break up the wall a bit so I could climb up to an indoor window, but as soon as I started to peek in I was confronted by someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Tom Cruise...  and he was FREAKED OUT.  Whatever he was afraid of, it caused him to knock me down off the wall and slam the windows back shut, screaming something at me...  although I couldn't understand what it was.  At this point Nick had disappeared.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Without any concern to me, that is...  he just wasn't there anymore.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I continued walking up and down the hallways, going from floor to floor, but now I was looking for my girlfriend.  I think I was concerned at whatever was approaching, and I wanted to find her so that we could both be safe somewhere.  As I reached the upper floors, I finally found where she was staying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were several large apartments on the upper-most floor that had been taken over by a gang of people.  They were up there partying, drinking, and carrying on...  completely acting like they didn't even care that something bad was coming this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started kicking open doors, hoping that I was going to find her up there somewhere - but when I did I was pissed off.  It turns out that she wasn't up there hiding, she was up there partying with everyone else.  She was actually sitting in a giant hot tub with a bunch of other girls that were just chilling out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I asked why she wasn't hiding and why she wasn't trying to find me, she said that she was mad because I was trying to meet up with Pam, and that it didn't matter anyway because I'd always take her back no matter what she did.  I told her she was full of crap and I turned around to walk out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She jumped out of the hot tub and started running towards me, asking me to forgive her, and I kept telling her no.  I actually went into other rooms and kept slamming the doors, trying to get her to stop following me, but she wouldn't leave me alone.  She kept saying &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"You know how this goes...  I screw up and then you take me back!"&lt;/span&gt;  I kept trying to get away, she kept yelling...  then I woke up.   :-/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-4576812180639923430?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4576812180639923430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4576812180639923430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2009/03/compilation-of-events.html' title='Compilation of Events'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-2974599318390108068</id><published>2009-01-14T13:54:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T14:18:54.485-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Violence</title><content type='html'>It started out good, with me and some friends attending some sort of late night carnival.  There was a huge ferris wheel that we were riding, and my shoulder was fine - so I was doing stupid things like hanging off the side of the bucket and making the ferris wheel go so fast that I could actually spin upside down as I reached the top.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Difficult to explain...  think centrifuge)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After doing a few spins I did end up hurting my shoulder, so I hobbled off the ride and made my way to a dark building as it started to rain.  The town around this carnival seemed to be abandoned, and the water was rising from the rain so we took shelter in an uncompleted basement of an old building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the people that was with me noticed that I was moving kind of slow and in pain - and he questioned if my injury was real or if I was just being a wuss... so I got pissed off and started to yell, freak out, and throw things around inside the house.  I picked up a lamp and smashed it against the wall, I picked up an end-table and threw it through the doorway and into another room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point we realized that the house wasn't actually abandoned, and that an old lady lived there and it served as a funeral home.  We made our way upstairs and saw newly decorated caskets on the porch, as if they were getting ready to have a funeral.  We even saw one of the groundskeepers there, and mentioned to him that we would be gone in a minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't seem to care, but we noticed the old lady sitting in the living room and she had a gun.  We ran back inside and made our way to a garage, where a Ferarri was sitting.  One of the workers in the house told us that there was no way for us to get out without the old lady killing us, unless we used the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got ready to get in the car to leave, but we noticed that the garage didn't have a big door to open - and that we actually had to go down the hallway towards the living room &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;in the car&lt;/span&gt; in order to escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when I woke up.  :-/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-2974599318390108068?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/2974599318390108068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/2974599318390108068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2009/01/violence.html' title='Violence'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-5002361436233820795</id><published>2008-11-05T11:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T11:41:12.394-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Forced Labor</title><content type='html'>I went in to the place where I worked a few hours early, and when I got there my boss showed me that he had some new mattresses on sale there.  He asked if I would help him move them towards the front of the store and I did, but then he asked me to keep working.  In fact, he told me all sorts of things that he wanted me to do immediately...  but since I wasn't scheduled to start work for another few hours, I told him that I couldn't do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point he got mad and started yelling at me and telling me that I was fired and to get out of the store.  I started shouting back at him and grabbed my aluminum bat and headed towards the office where the managers and store owners were located.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went in to all the rooms, but I couldn't find anyone with the authority to overrule my asshole boss, so I smashed my bat across someone's desk and told them that they had better find someone or there was going to be trouble.  Right after that everyone ran out of the building and closed the store, leaving me sitting there alone waiting for anyone to handle this issue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-5002361436233820795?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5002361436233820795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5002361436233820795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/11/forced-labor.html' title='Forced Labor'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-1888130017488374396</id><published>2008-07-08T14:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T15:00:27.368-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Country Thrift Store</title><content type='html'>I was riding my bike along a long stretch of highway out in the country, when I came upon a huge chunk of pavement that wasn't quite done yet.  All of the cars were being filtered into the opposite lanes while the construction crews continued working on the new section of road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to the left there was a big metal pole building that turned out to be a thrift store, however nobody could get to it from the highway because the exit ramp had not been completed yet.  Of course since I was riding a bike it was no problem for me to ride along the dirt where the road was going to be, up over a half-assembled bridges, and up to the building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got there the people greeted me like they knew me.  Another customer came up to me and asked if they sold microwave ovens there, and I pointed him to the shelves where they were sitting, and explained that sometimes they also auction them off in the large room towards the rear of the building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wandered over to the electronics section pretty much as soon as I got there, and as usual &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(in my dream, apparently I had been here many times)&lt;/span&gt; there was a large bin full of rare Atari 2600 games.  As I began to look through them, I saw one titled "Radar Jaws" and then another that was obviously a pirated multi-cart due to the "guts" not fitting entirely in the case.  In fact, it was held together with a rubber band.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember any of the other titles, but I did look through and pick out quite a few of the games - while thinking in my head that I was glad that I told people to take their games there for .50 credit towards other things in the store, because there was one person that must have had all these rare games, and they kept on bringing them there for me to snag at .99 a piece.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-1888130017488374396?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/1888130017488374396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/1888130017488374396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/07/country-thrift-store.html' title='Country Thrift Store'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-3796198169109872538</id><published>2008-06-23T11:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T11:35:46.456-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Camping Trip</title><content type='html'>Me and some friends went on a camping trip, apparently somewhere down south, which included a boating trip.  Well, not so much boating...   but yeah...  me and Matthew Lillard (Shaggy) were trying to talk Jeff Gordon into riding in the separated bed of a pickup truck, in this fast flowing river.  Me and Matt had already taken a ride, but Jeff was being a baby and didn't wanna do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally jumped in after the peer-pressure got to him, and me and Matt started pushing him out into the rapids.  We were supposed to hold on to the truck bed so that he didn't get away from us, but we just let him go and he wooshed away down the river and crashed into the front of someone's house that had been flooded out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time that me and Shaggy had swam to that house to make sure he was okay, he was inside in the living room, talking to the old couple that lived there - bitching about how mean everyone was being to him.  When we went in, he told us that at 9:00am the next morning he was gonna get in his car and go home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him that he couldn't wuss out, because "You and me are kinda in the same boat...  we race in Nascar, but we don't have that southern cred...  we don't have a kewl accent like Sterling Marlin or something."  (Apparently I was a driver as well  *shrug*)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if we convinced him or not, but we ended up hiking along a railroad track into the country, and found a place with a bunch of big flat rocks where we could set up our gear and sleep.  We first started to sleep ON the tracks, but then realized that was a bad idea and moved a few feet away from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up I was in a big hotel in Atlantic City, someplace where I used to work.  I went in to the arcade and looked for my wallet, which I had stashed underneath one of the change machines.  Once I found my wallet I went back out to the lobby with my friends so that I could ride this big sphere that went up and down in the middle of this multi-story open room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I went to another arcade, and actually ran into the same kid that was in the other arcade when I found my wallet.  I apologized to him for banging into him, and he was kewl about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-3796198169109872538?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/3796198169109872538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/3796198169109872538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/06/camping-trip.html' title='Camping Trip'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-918138896091387570</id><published>2008-06-08T13:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T13:30:24.671-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Abandoned Jail / Hotel / Store</title><content type='html'>I had been thrown in jail for something, along with Nick and a few other friends.  I remember that it was like our 4th or 5th day there, and that Nick was getting out soon, but that I had to spend a whole month there.   I was starting to freak out due to claustrophobia, and was able to escape from my cell and into the main part of the building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was dark outside, and there were barely any lights on inside this old multi-story building.  I went down a few flights of stairs to what I thought was the ground level, but I was really still on the 2nd or 3rd floor when I came around the corner of the stairwell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The walls were plaster...   old, discolored, water-stained, with pieces of the plaster cracking and falling out onto the wet carpeting.  I had a bat with me, and I swung it to each side of the doorway before I entered this giant dark room...  which ended up being a huge, open storage area where supplies were kept.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few other escapees were there, and we began looking through all of the goods in the near-darkness, but discovered that everything had already been opened and gone through...  none of the food was fit for eating anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As some of us started to leave the creepy dark building, I ran into Kayla...   she was making a big deal about how she was a member of the club that met in the downstairs parts of the building, and that I had to leave because I didn't have a pass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-918138896091387570?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/918138896091387570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/918138896091387570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/06/abandoned-jail-hotel-store.html' title='Abandoned Jail / Hotel / Store'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-8643163701057546404</id><published>2008-06-07T09:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T09:22:01.451-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meeting Friends for a Meal</title><content type='html'>I was hanging out with Jim, Adam, and Alex at some random hotel somewhere...  having sort of a party.  Jim and Alex we're doing their own thing, I was trying to just get some sleep, waiting for Adam to get back from wherever he was with his girlfriend.  When he got back to the hotel he had a Poison CD that she had given him, and he gave it to me since he already had a copy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all wanted something to eat so Jim started making one of those crappy "do it yourself from scratch" pizza kits, but it turned out pretty crappy so we all went to a local VFW to get in on the "all you can eat" charity dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was waiting for the food to be done by spending some time in their "internet booth" watching little flash animations of Star Wars scenes.  When I got done watching them, I exited the booth and found that my whole family was there eating - and that I had waited too long and had missed the serving of the food.  They saved me a plate of noodles, potatoes, and beef, but the quality was poor and I was very unhappy.  I ate what I had, and headed back to the line for dessert, which was just being served.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-8643163701057546404?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8643163701057546404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8643163701057546404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/06/meeting-friends-for-meal.html' title='Meeting Friends for a Meal'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-5630808337116267260</id><published>2008-05-10T14:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T14:33:33.171-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Up To No Good</title><content type='html'>It started out that my cousin and I were sneaking in to some old abandoned warehouse.  At least we thought it was abandoned...  but it turns out that it was actually being used by Armond, my old boss, to store a bunch of old stuff for some new stores he was opening up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had barely made it through the front loading docks when Armond and a team of investors came around the corner and caught us.  He looked at me with disappointment, for sneaking into his place.  I explained that we thought it was an abandoned building, and I asked if he was going to be opening a new store or something.  He asked "Why?" in a suspicious voice, and then we began to talk about random "store stuff" that I can't quite remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was somewhere else, sometime during the night, sneaking into a trailer house with a couple of other people.  We were looking for someone, but I can't recall who.  After we got in there, Samuel Jackson came in with a gun and started shouting at all of us.  I hid in a back room and held really still, and he didn't notice that I was in there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then jumped out one of the windows and ran down the street and hopped into this old dune buggy / oldies looking car with great big wheels.  I started driving away, but realized that I was actually on a track - like those car rides for kids that you see in amusement parks.  I was able to navigate my way up the track and into some trees, narrowly making the sharp turns without falling off the track.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was in the trees, I hopped out and ran into a mall that was up there.  (*shrug*  don't ask me  heh)  I ran into a department store and grabbed a belt that was laying on one of the counters and slipped it on and then I ran out the door, with cashiers and people chasing after me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-5630808337116267260?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5630808337116267260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5630808337116267260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/05/up-to-no-good.html' title='Up To No Good'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-1646978805379129854</id><published>2008-04-27T13:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T13:47:08.177-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Redneck Store Detention</title><content type='html'>I had gone on vacation to somewhere down south with my parents and my cousin Mongo.  Well, Mongo and I decided to go out and explore the local town where we were staying, and we walked up the street and started to go into this big ratty looking discount store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I even got through the door, some hillbilly came up to me and said that I wasn't allowed going in, because I wasn't "edjeekated" enough.  I started arguing with the guy and eventually a female manager came up and asked what the problem was.  As the redneck kept shouting and cussing I calmly explained to the woman that we were there on vacation, staying at a hotel only a few blocks away, and that we just wanted to come in and look around and maybe buy some things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her verdict was the same as the first guy's...  we were undesirable characters and we would not be allowed into the store.  I stood on the edge of the store's entry way and taunted the first guy, trying to get him to fight with me, but he wouldn't take the bait.  Then Mongo decided he was going to go in anyway, and as soon as he did one of the security guards grabbed him and handcuffed him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hadn't done anything wrong, but they told me that he was going to be taken to the jail in downtown Cleveland, and that unless I wanted to have the same fate that I better leave.  I got out my cell phone and started to call the police to tell them what was going on at this store, but Mongo told me not to do it - since he didn't have insurance on his truck, and he thought that they'd find out and take his license away from him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-1646978805379129854?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/1646978805379129854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/1646978805379129854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/04/redneck-store-detention.html' title='Redneck Store Detention'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-4156817871196642437</id><published>2008-03-01T14:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T15:16:44.644-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More Random Nostalgia</title><content type='html'>I was vacationing in Atlantic City and walking along the boardwalk when I ran into Ami, a girl that I went to school with.  She was sitting up on an inclined section of the boardwalk, looking down at the ocean as her boyfriend Dave went swimming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stopped to talk to her and catch up on old times, but she was too pissed off about the things Dave was doing.  Now, all Dave was doing was swimming in the ocean, but for some reason Ami didn't want any part of that.  I kept telling her that it isn't often that she'd be near the Atlantic Ocean, and that she shouldn't miss what might possibly be her only chance to go swimming in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I finished saying that, Dave came up to us.  She introduced me to him, even though I already knew him, and then she invited me to go back to our old school to look around with them.  We got to the school, and again, Ami didn't seem happy.  The kids were getting ready to eat lunch in the cafeteria, but she wanted to eat lunch somewhere else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally convinced her that we should eat in the cafeteria, since we hadn't stepped foot in that place for about 25 years, and she finally agreed to go...  although she whispered to me that we had to sit near the elevator, because that's how Dave wanted it.  *shrug*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sat down to eat, and now suddenly the elevator was actually a way to get to the top of this giant ferris-wheel type ride, outside in some park.  Before we could even start eating, Dave ran off and headed over to the elevator.  It is hard to describe, because it couldn't be done in real life, but there was a "doggy door" sized elevator door at ground level, and then another "normal" sized entrance a few feet above it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was getting in through the doggy door, but Ami and I were too big.  Dave had already left Ami behind, and began climbing up to the normal elevator door - because he HAD TO RIDE THE ELEVATOR.  Some sort of obsession or something.  Once again Ami was pissed off.  By then I began to realize that it was because Dave actually didn't like doing ANYTHING that Ami wanted to do, and vice versa.  I'm not sure why they were even a couple....  heh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-4156817871196642437?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4156817871196642437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4156817871196642437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/03/more-random-nostalgia.html' title='More Random Nostalgia'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-4723449425109243333</id><published>2008-02-26T14:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T15:19:13.470-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Dreams and Demon Babies</title><content type='html'>I was standing in line with a bunch of people at some indoor fun-park type thing.  We were in a dark enclosed area, with several lines waiting to get into these doors that led to the next part of the ride we wanted to get on.  The closer you'd get to the doors, the more the floors would shake and wobble.  We were expecting there to be something really grand on the other side...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the doors opened, only one person at a time could go through...  and it was a water slide type ride.  Everyone, as soon as they saw this, got annoyed because nobody had any intention of getting wet.  However in order to continue on the ride and get out, we had to get on our butts in our normal street clothes and slide down this gradual water slide that led into a large dark area, filled with Disney-esque animatronic characters and brightly lit scenes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started down the slide, but was able to divert myself somehow off of the main path and into a "back area" of the ride.  I was dropped into a very familiar area, where you were almost participating in a live videogame.  I was now on an innertube, sliding quickly through the hallways covered in bones and skulls, heading towards what appeared to be a dead end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew I had been there before, because I wasn't worried about the dead end...  I knew at the end of the hallway that there was a secret opening to the left, where a giant demon monster would be waiting to attack me and stop my progress.  My only weapon was a motion activated gun, which would shoot bullets for the first 9 shots, and then a huge burst of energy on every 10th shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reached the end of the hallway, and my innertube was not cut up by all of the bones and teeth and piece on the floors.  And as I expected, the demon crashed through the wall to the left of me and I began shooting.  The gun was huge...  you had to hold it by handles on both sides, and to shoot it you had to lunge it forward and then back, repeatedly.  I knew that a couple of "10th shot" blasts would kill him, and it did...   he fell to the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided not to go into the secret area, because I could see more giant demons walking around in there, so I turned and headed back up the hallway from which I came.  At this point it turned into a hallway from my elementary school.  As I began heading back towards an exit, lots of little demon children and babies started trying to attack me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still had the gun, but I wasn't shooting at them.  Instead, I was swinging the gun around wildly, smashing the demon kids in the heads, knocking them to the ground and then continuing on.  At the very end of the hallway, right by the exit, there was a child-sized ride-on train that would also demonized, driving around in circles, blocking my escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The train actually had a front which was the head of Beetlejuice, with its mouth full of sharp teeth, angrily biting at anyone that tried to get past it.  I took a few swings with my gun, and despite hitting it, it didn't fall down as easily as the demon kids.  I hit it in the side a few times, but couldn't knock it over, so eventually I smashed it in the face as hard as I could and then ran through the exit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-4723449425109243333?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4723449425109243333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4723449425109243333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/02/old-dreams-and-demon-babies.html' title='Old Dreams and Demon Babies'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-8255078696940723424</id><published>2008-02-20T13:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T13:53:04.922-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cougar</title><content type='html'>I was attending a party in some old building, with Tabatha from work and Pam Gerun, one of my friends from back in high school.  We were upstairs looking for people we knew whenwe came across  big table full of brochures.  Apparently this party was sponsored by a motorcycle dealership, as they had brochures for all of the new bikes that were being released this coming year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We never found anyone that we knew, so Pam and I went outside to sit in the grass beside the house and talk.  She was sitting in a papasan, and I was just sitting on the ground.  Just then, a cougar came around the corner, as if it was stalking us.  I told Pam to cover her head with a blanket, and she did that just in time so that the cougar didn't know she was sitting there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grabbed a blanket and covered up too, and was safe, but then I saw my cat walking towards me from the other direction and I had to get up to grab him and then we both hid back under the blanket.  By this time though, the cougar had seen me and Kitty, and he started pawing at the blanket, knowing that we were under there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally pulled the blanket back enough that he could stick his paw in.  He pawed around for Kitty, but once he realized couldn't grab anything &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(he didn't have any claws)&lt;/span&gt; he got frustrated and left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-8255078696940723424?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8255078696940723424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8255078696940723424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/02/cougar.html' title='Cougar'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-8681135358323467891</id><published>2008-01-29T11:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T11:28:00.919-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Huge Mish Mash</title><content type='html'>Ami, an old classmate of mine, were walking around on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, going in and out of shops.  We had a couple other friends with us, although I couldn't identify who they were.  We were walking and bitching about how it sucks to get old, and how nice it was when we were young and everything was new and hopeful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ami pointed out a place where she knew some of our other friends were, so we went inside.  She said I had to walk into the bathroom to get one of them.  I only had socks on, so it was nasty walking into this bathroom without something protecting my feet.  Inside there was a guy resting on a stretcher...  it was David Riggs.  He still looked the same age as we did when we were kids, but he was adult sized.  Hard to explain, but he looked really odd.  He seemed mentally retarded too, as he kept saying &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"You Bobby Parsley!  You Bobby Parsley!"&lt;/span&gt;  He didn't remember me until I reminded him about doing Young Authors Conference work with him in Mrs Boyer's class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I left there, Ami was gone, and for some reason I was now walking around on all fours.  I think it had something to do with an injury.  I was going into a school cafeteria, so I tried to get back up and stand just on my legs so that nobody would make fun of me.  It really hurt, and I didn't look natural, and one girl in there smiled and said &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I remember making fun of you during Knight Rider!"&lt;/span&gt;  I have no idea what she meant, but she was smiling and didn't mean anything bad by it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I left the cafeteria I was now at a big auction.  I went there because I knew they had a bunch of rare videogames.  I found the pile of old NES games...  all of them were boxed, in almost new condition, and they were the rarest of the rare titles.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Although in reality, all of the titles were games that don't even exist.)&lt;/span&gt;  I was waiting for the auction to start so that I could bid, then some kid comes over and offered the auctioneer 20 bucks for the stack.  I was upset, and motioned to the guy that I wanted to bid too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't end up getting the games, instead choosing to leave and go into a nearby BW3 with Ami.  (She was back, for some reason.)  She ran into the restaurant, since she had to use their restroom, and me and my friend came in a few seconds later.  The people at BW3 thought we were food critics, so they were falling all over themselves to make us happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place was crowded, so they couldn't seat us right away.  Instead, they sat us separately...  with me sitting at a table with a really old man and some retarded young kid.  The kid kept crawling around on the floor, picking things up.  It turns out he was looking for coins.  The old man apparently was a coin collector and had taught the kid to look for rare coins on the floors of restaurants.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;*shrug*&lt;/span&gt;  I watched him picking up coins...  he found old silver dollars, weird gold pieces, and even dirty old pennies and dimes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-8681135358323467891?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8681135358323467891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8681135358323467891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2008/01/huge-mish-mash.html' title='Huge Mish Mash'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-9113060749558154483</id><published>2007-12-30T09:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-30T10:06:13.032-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hideout Hotel</title><content type='html'>For some reason I decided to rob the local drug store.  I had a huge revolver, went in to the store during broad daylight, and told the first cashier near the door to give me the money.  The gun went off by accident but didn't hit anyone, so my partner and I ran out of the store and down to the local creek for our getaway.  My partner was a Hindi looking girl who didn't say very much, but whom I think helped me plan the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ran along the creek in town, and finally made our way to a big casino hotel on the edge of town.  At this point that girl just vanished, because I was now by myself and it was getting dark.  I hid in the front porch of an abandoned house near the casino, just waiting for someone to come get me, but nobody ever did.  I kept thinking how weird it was that nobody seemed to be looking for me, since everyone at that store knew me and likely had video of the robbery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I felt a little safer I went into the casino hotel, walking up a narrow stairway inside the building to the 7th or 8th floor.  There were windows in the stairwell, and I remarked to the person walking with me that it was neat to see such a view of Lancaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into my room, where apparently my whole family was staying, and sat and watched out the window into the near-darkness.  The windows were small, only slightly larger than my head, and were placed low to the floor.  At least in my room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was looking out the open window, I kept seeing a girl's head poke in and out of the window directly below mine.  Apparently her window was located near the ceiling in her room, because every time she looked out I could see the top of her head near the bottom of my window opening.  It turns out she was doing more than just looking out her window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This girl was actually scaling the outside of the building in the cold and snow, and somehow getting in through the windows and stealing stuff from people's rooms.  When I saw that she was about to come up to my window and try to steal my stuff, I got into bed and pretended like I was asleep until she got into the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tried to sneak across my bed, which was up against the wall by the window, and I grabbed her as she was almost across.  She laughed in one of those "oh, I guess you caught me" kind of ways, and said that she'd just leave if I let her make a phone call to her friend.  I told her that I'd get my cellphone so she could do that, and she smiled and said "I've already got your cell phone" and pulled it out of her pocket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She made her call and asked for one favor.  She wanted to know if we had any comp cards that are used in the gambling machines in the hotel.  I told her I'd get her one, since it would only add to our comp points, but after looking in all of our wallets and and luggage I couldn't find any.  Dad even woke up and gave a few suggestions, but it appeared that we lost them all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-9113060749558154483?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/9113060749558154483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/9113060749558154483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/12/hideout-hotel.html' title='Hideout Hotel'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-6152469104190979141</id><published>2007-12-19T20:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T20:43:37.892-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoot 'Em Up</title><content type='html'>I was in the parking lot of the mall, driving an RV with some friends, when I giant tank came into the far side of the parking lot and started shooting machine guns at all of the cars.  Not wanting to get shot, I did my best to move the RV out of the main parking lot and up against the wall of the mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ran inside the mall, which actually contained shitty white-trash apartment units instead of stores.  A friend and I ran inside the first one and flopped down on a couch.  Nick's ex-girlfriend was there, except she was fat and had a tramp stamp.  Shortly after I sat on the couch I heard the sounds of the people from the tank entering the mall, and they were all shooting their guns.  One of the shooters was Justin Timberlake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily before he came in I told my friend that he should take his gun and stuff it in the crack of the couch, so that we'd be unarmed if the shooters intended to search us.  I did the same, barely getting my gun into the couch before Justin walked in and started screaming at everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He immediately shot one of the people that rents the apartment.  Right in the face.  And as soon as he did that, he turned and aimed his gun at me.  I didn't make eye contact or do anything, so he settled down a bit and put his gun away and began making plans with his partners in crime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he thought he had us all scared enough, he started going back and forth between the living room where we were, and the kitchen.  At this point I grabbed my OSU jacket and started putting it on, while also covertly reaching into the couch in order to get the gun.  Unfortunately he came back into the room before I had grabbed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tossed a disassembled Colt 45 at me and told me that he wanted me to clean it and reassemble.  One of my stupid friends said &lt;em&gt;"I think the instructions are in the couch.  I think you're sitting on them."  &lt;/em&gt;I thought for sure that Justin would want to look and see, but instead I started describing the things on the gun that were broke, and demonstrated how I wasn't going to be able to put it back together for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again he walked into the kitchen, but this time Mongo was already in there and he still had his gun in his coat.  As soon as Justin walked around the corner into the kitchen, Mongo grabbed him and threw him out into the lawn and shot him in the head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-6152469104190979141?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6152469104190979141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6152469104190979141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/12/shoot-em-up.html' title='Shoot &apos;Em Up'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-8169692596743884006</id><published>2007-09-28T15:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T15:35:24.220-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ghost Skillz</title><content type='html'>I was in the basement of my Grandma's house, and I was with someone that was helping me learn the tricks of being a ghost.  Some other family actually lived in the house now...  I think it was Tom Cruise, actually..  but the whole focus of this dream was learning to get around the house, using my ghosts skillz, but without being detected by the family that lived there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My helper gave me a sheet of paper.  This paper was required if I wanted to travel through doors and walls.  I'd hold the paper, a glow would cover me, and then I could pass through solid objects without any resistance.  However, I was told that I couldn't just go barging through walls at any speed that I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to remain unseen, ghosts have to creep through solid objects.  If we tried to go through them too fast, the living would be able to detect us.  I did it the right way a couple of times, to see if I could do it...  and then of course I had to try to go through something fast to see what would happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went through the brick wall separating the living area from the laundry area at a quick pace, and when I did I could tell that the glow around me was also visible to the people doing their laundry.  Since my presence had already been detected, I backed through the wall and did it again - even faster this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must have been VERY visible this time, because I rushed up to a little girl that was standing there - and whatever it was that she saw in me, it scared her so much that her face deformed.  Her eyes sunk in and turned black, her skin became pale, and her face took on that look that you saw in the movie The Ring, when people are killed by the girl in the tape.   :-)  I win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-8169692596743884006?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8169692596743884006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/8169692596743884006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/09/ghost-skillz.html' title='Ghost Skillz'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-7179520262975685188</id><published>2007-09-28T15:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T15:27:14.892-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Melty</title><content type='html'>Dad and I drove to Atlantic City in my trusty Hyundai Elantra, and we parked in the Sands parking tower and were going to go inside and do some gambling.  Something must have happened to my car during the trip though, because I was fiddling around with the wires underneath the dash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hooked up some sort of warming device to some wires located under the steering wheel.  I'm not sure what I was trying to accomplish, but within a couple of minutes the thing heated up so much that it melted through all of the wires, leaving a jumble of frayed connections to some sort of control box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't tell dad about it, since I wanted us to enjoy our trip, but I remember thinking that I'd either have to win enough money at the slots to repair the car - or I'd have to start looking around for another car to steal so we'd have a way back home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-7179520262975685188?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/7179520262975685188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/7179520262975685188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/09/melty.html' title='Melty'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-3848087495352474868</id><published>2007-09-17T03:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T03:47:16.096-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying / Skimming Carpet Ride</title><content type='html'>I was traveling down the road that goes out of Millersport, towards Thurston, sometime during the night.  It was very dark out...  not even the moon was providing any light.  I was actually riding on a flying carpet, with some crappy-ass headlights, but it wasn't really doing much more than hovering a few inches off the ground - and usually actually skimming the pavement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was moving at a good rate of speed, probably close to what you'd do in a car...  however it was very hard to control, and that wasn't made any easier due to the way the headlights would wave about.  (Since they were attached to the front of the carpet.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right before I reached a somewhat sharp right hand curve, I hit a hill in the road that sent me flying about 100 feet into the air.  I lost control of the carpet, and was just hoping that it would land somewhere safe - with me still on it.  Before I knew it, the carpet and I had landed at the top of a very tall tree along side of the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was suddenly light out now, and I could look down and see that there was a large fence going around the base of the tree.  And just a few feet to the east of the tree was a big lake, with giant waves splashing up and down.  My carpet was now sputtering and smoking, so I figured the only way I'd survive was if I tried to jump it out of the tree and onto one of the big waves below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave it the gas and it awkwardly left the tree, spinning somewhat out of control towards the ground.  I could tell I wasn't going to land in the water, so I pulled back on the front of the carpet as hard as I could - and crash landed inside the fenced in area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got off my carpet, and noticed that there were lots of people standing around and talking to each other inside the fence.  I saw my cousin Mongo, so I went up to him to tell him what just happened.  He smiled and laughed...  and then started talking to me really fast in fluent Spanish.  I looked at him with a surprised look on my face, and he laughed again - apparently because he already knew the secret of the fenced area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once you were inside the fence, you were only able to speak Spanish to people.  It didn't necessarily mean you could &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;understand&lt;/span&gt; Spanish...  just everything that you said, even if you were trying to say it in English, would come out in Spanish.  Apparently it took a while before that effect would show on the new people - because I still had to struggle to think of just a few Spanish sentences to say to Mongo.  And he just laughed when I did, because he had no idea what I was saying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-3848087495352474868?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/3848087495352474868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/3848087495352474868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/09/flying-skimming-carpet-ride.html' title='Flying / Skimming Carpet Ride'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-143343047197190527</id><published>2007-09-01T15:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-01T15:56:20.898-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Indescribable</title><content type='html'>I went to my grandma's house outside of Sugar Grove one afternoon because nobody was supposed to be there, and I told my friend Amanda that she could come over with her friends - because she was trying to get away from her boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was there for a couple hours waiting, when all of the sudden my grandma came from one of the back rooms, asking what was going on.  I was surprised, because I thought she was gone - and then it got even worse, as a bunch of people from my showed up to check in on her as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As mom and dad walked in, I told them that I thought the house was going to be empty, and that it wasn't a good time for them to come because I had some friends showing up soon.  They came in anyway.  Later in the evening Amanda was finally able to come over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, as planned, she didn't come alone.  She had a whole carload of people with her.  Apparently not only was she trying to escape her boyfriend, but so were many of her friends and other family.  All of my family started getting annoyed as they came in through the front door, some of them even bringing their pets with them - almost like they were refugees from a hurricane or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told mom that I had warned them about this, and I took Amanda into one of the back rooms so I could talk to her - leaving all the other people that I didn't know out in the living room with grandma and my family.  (Dogs barking, kids screaming, people wandering around everywhere...  heh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told Amanda we wouldn't be able to stay, cuz my grandma would go nuts, and somehow we instantly turned up in Atlantic City on the boardwalk in the late afternoon.  She and I were looking in storage units which were actually on the boardwalk.  Perhaps there was going to be an auction?  I'm not sure, but they were all open, and all filled with things of little interest to either of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amanda just kinda vanished at this point, and I wandered into a "Skill Center" on the north end of the boardwalk.  They didn't have slot machines or regular casino games, but they did have carnival type games which paid their prizes in cash instead of stuffed animals or something.  The first game I came across was something like "Quarters"  You would throw your quarters at tiny cups, each one marked with a different cash value.  Get it in the cup, win that amount.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was digging in my pocket for change, and came up with a handful of mixed silver change.  I had plenty of quarters, but some of them were stuck together with a big glob of pink bubblegum.  I was looking around for a place to stick this gummed wad of change, but I was aware that security was watching me and I didn't want to get in trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left the casino and headed down into the city a bit, which turned into Lancaster Ohio.  I was walking underneath the Rt 33 overpass over Broad St and came upon a bunch of skids of "stuff" sitting in rows in a vacant parking lot.  Most of it was construction supplies, but there was one skid of old Commodore PET computers that I saw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying to think of a way that I could load all of them into my car, but then some guy came along with a truck and started loading them up himself.  I was screwed because my tiny car couldn't hold them.  I'm not sure if he was allowed to take them, or if they were just there for anyone - but he told me that they were auction goods.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-143343047197190527?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/143343047197190527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/143343047197190527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/09/indescribable.html' title='Indescribable'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-911683476956528606</id><published>2007-07-24T16:35:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T16:39:23.374-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meteor</title><content type='html'>I was in an apartment building with a bunch of friends and family, and we noticed out the sliding glass doors that there was what looked like a shooting star.  The others just looked for a moment then went back to what they were doing, but I kept watching as it got bigger and bigger...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually it entered the atmosphere and started breaking apart in a shower of sparks - but the main piece of this meteorite was still large and heading towards the ground.  It smashed down about a mile or two from where we were, and as soon as I saw it happen I told everyone to get away from the glass windows and doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I jumped away from the doors and hid behind a heavy wall next to a big closet.  Just as I did, the shockwave from the impact hit the apartment building and made the whole thing shake.  Luckily the windows didn't break out, since nobody was paying attention to me, but the whole area was covered in a cloud of dust and debris.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-911683476956528606?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/911683476956528606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/911683476956528606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/07/meteor.html' title='Meteor'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-5100473651867645635</id><published>2007-06-07T13:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T13:38:08.655-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beatings</title><content type='html'>I was in high school, standing next to a trophy case in the hallway, when Misty &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(one of my friends I used to work with)&lt;/span&gt; came walking up with her arm full of spiral bound notebooks.  She had a couple girlfriends with her, and she was upset because she was trying to get into some sort of contest with a business idea that she came up with - but she had been rejected.  In fact, the people actually stole her idea and gave it to another girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She threw all of her notebooks into the trash can next to me, and ran away crying.  I didn't wanna see her give up like that and accept defeat, so I grabbed all of them back out of the trash again.  Some guy standing next to me grabbed one of them from my hands and started going through it.  I was kinda annoyed because &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; wanted to be the one to help her out.  And in fact, this guy was actually doing it because he liked her and knew that I did too - and he wanted to be a pain in my ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he was leafing through the pages, he came across two tickets to a NASCAR race featuring Dale Earnhardt.  He started to run after her, to tell her that they were still good, despite being dated for a race sometime in 1993.  I snatched them out of his hand and told him that I wasn't going to let him bother her.  He tried to grab at them again, struggling with me and the notebooks, and I pushed him against the wall and said &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"If you do that again I am going to stab you in the stomach with this pencil."&lt;/span&gt;  Apparently my serious look and firm tone made him realize that I wasn't playing this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being the ass that he was, he grabbed some of the notebooks from me anyway and started running down the hall.  I grabbed him by the back of the shirt, spun him around, and knocked his feet out from under him.  He fell down and I kicked him in the head twice, causing him to give up and hand the notebooks back.  I guess he hadn't had enough though, because as I started to walk away he got up and came at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did pretty much the same thing, tackling him by the legs and throwing him up in the air, flipping him around - and he landed on his head and hurt his neck.  He was rolling around on the ground in pain, when a couple of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;his&lt;/span&gt; friends saw what I had done.  His friends happened to be James Caan &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;("Eraser" era)&lt;/span&gt; and John Travolta &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;("Swordfish" era)  &lt;/span&gt;James Caan came up to me and asked how I'd like it if someone did that same thing to me...  and before I could say anything, John Travolta had knocked me to the ground and started twisting on my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried explaining to them what that guy had done, and that I just had neck surgery so they would likely kill me if they kept screwing with my head like that, but it didn't matter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-5100473651867645635?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5100473651867645635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5100473651867645635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/06/beatings.html' title='Beatings'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-4860020762002705900</id><published>2007-06-02T10:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T23:57:43.475-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Spiders</title><content type='html'>I was in an old house I used to live in, on Hubert Ave here in town, and was sleeping upstairs when I noticed that I could see down into the basement through one of the heater vents.  I decided to go downstairs into the basement, because it was a place where none of us ever went - and I wanted to see what else was down there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quickly made my way down the steps, walking through some spiderwebs at the bottom of the stairs.  As soon as I did this, I realized that there were spiders hanging from all of the beams in the ceiling.  I ducked to avoid them as they came down to attack me, but then I realized that having just walked through some webs - I probably already had some on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started flinging my arms around, trying to shake off anything that might have already crawled on me - all the while, more and more spiders kept coming down from the beams to try to get me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked up a pipe and started swinging at them as they dangled from their webs.  Each time I'd hit one they'd explode in a little poof of liquid, and I managed to knock most of them away before escaping and running back upstairs, understanding now why we don't go down into the basement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-4860020762002705900?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4860020762002705900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4860020762002705900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/06/spiders.html' title='Spiders'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-6187375295419648932</id><published>2007-03-18T13:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T13:30:11.520-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flee (Long)</title><content type='html'>I was in my new apartment somewhere, and Genesee was with me.  She was acting all weird, not talking to me and stuff, so I grabbed her cell phone and called the place where she took karate classes.  Her instructor answered...  he sounded like an old man, and accused me of playing games when I asked him if Genesee was there.  I told him that she had lost her phone and I was just calling looking for her, and then he hung up on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I hung up there was a knock on my door.  It was the people that lived in the unit connected to mine, and they had come over to complain about Genesee's dog pooping on their grass.  There were like 3 or 4 white-trash redneck type guys, all tattooed and pissed off.  Without me knowing, they had tagged my house with all kinds of graffiti.  They were yelling at Genesee, saying that they were gonna "get us" and we better watch our backs and stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One guy had a black can of spraypaint in his hand still and started spraying more things on my apartment.  I went over to him and knocked the can out of his hands, only to have him pick it up again and start spraying &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt; with it.  As soon as he started doing this I reached into my pocket, grabbed a pair of scissors, and stabbed him in the leg and twisted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He fell to the ground screaming, Genesee ran away, and I went back into the house.  Jim and Adam were now in there as well, hanging out upstairs.  I told them what happened, and we went around to the house locking all the doors and windows, to make sure that the neighbors wouldn't be able to get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of Adam's friends pulled up in a blue car with those wing-type doors, so he went outside to go somewhere with them.  I ran upstairs because I knew the neighbors would get in the house when Adam left, so I climbed out on the balcony attached to the computer room.  There was a big white PVC type pipe going from the roof down to the ground, and I grabbed hold of it.  I just wanted to hide outside until the neighbors left, but instead the pipe broke free and bent over all the way to the ground, where I let go and gently fell to the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adam and his friends were already on their way out of the complex, so I ran after them and jumped onto the side of the car and asked them to at least drive me as far as the corner so I could get away.  They did, and when I hopped off at the corner of this busy intersection, I ran into Gwen Stefani, her twin sister, and one of the Olsen twins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gwen was kind of smirking as she walked and bobbed her head, because she could hear one of her songs playing in the background.  I asked her what it was like to hear your own stuff on the radio, if she had gotten over the thrill yet, and her twin (not identical) sister answered that it was still neat.  At this point the Olsen butted in about her career.  Spewing something about how hard it is being an actor, and how it is hard for her to look into the camera and laugh.  I asked her if she was going to do another album, and she said that it was too difficult and that it just wasn't her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right about then my cousin Jim showed up, pulling a pallet jack with John Cleese on it.  They were at the top of a big hill on a very crowded street, but I figured I'd join them for my escape.  I got on the back of the skid jack with John and we headed down the hill, trying to steer around the oncoming traffic, avoiding the potholes, and trying to turn the corners without falling off or skidding out of control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we made it to the bottom of the hill safely, we crashed into a parking lot of an abandoned gas station and laughed.  Strangely, I was now back at the door to my apartment and it looked normal, nobody was around...   it started raining so I ran inside.  Kitty was upstairs in the computer room looking at the window, because the rain was coming down so hard it was coming through the window and getting all over my computer stuff.  I shut that window and then went around to the rest of them, closing them to keep out the rain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-6187375295419648932?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6187375295419648932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6187375295419648932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/03/flee-long.html' title='Flee (Long)'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-4200361027233701876</id><published>2007-03-17T10:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-17T10:05:47.121-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Weirdness</title><content type='html'>I was riding with Aunt Carol along some road in Columbus, but we were in a big passenger jet rather than a car.  She was trying to find the airport so we could take off and fly somewhere, but she was having trouble navigating the streets due to the width of the plane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suggested that she go out to 270 and then down Hamilton in order to get to the airport, but she said there would be a problem with getting the wings underneath one of the overpasses before that intersection.  She tried anyway, and as we turned onto Hamilton the right wing of the plane crushed against one of the light poles, bending backwards and then springing back into place after we made the turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We pulled up to the airport and stopped the plane, and when I got out I was mumbling "I'm not gonna fly in this plane...  I'm not gonna fly in this plane..." because I had seen the damage that the wing had took, even though it went back into place and looked undamaged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got out of the plane and met a bunch of family in a large waiting area.  Somehow I folded up the wings of the plane and compressed them into the body and then zipped up some covers that went over the area where the wings retracted.  I remarked to someone there about what happened, but after that we never got back on the plane or even acted like we were going to fly anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the waiting area, all of the family was milling around and talking to each other.  Gary was there, cracking dumb jokes and stuff - which was odd, since Gary died a few weeks ago.  I was surprised to see him, but everyone else was acting as if it was completely normal that he was there.  Mom was off to the side of the area playing with Anna...  they had a view-master picture reel viewer thing, and mom was trying to take pictures of people with it.  A flash would go off from the front of the thing, but I explained to her that it wasn't a camera and that none of her pictures were going to turn out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-4200361027233701876?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4200361027233701876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/4200361027233701876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/03/random-weirdness.html' title='Random Weirdness'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-5562124326869647531</id><published>2007-02-25T12:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T12:52:21.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Balcony Collapse</title><content type='html'>I was on vacation someone with a couple of people I know, JJNova and Kamino.  We were staying in some cheap ass hotel that was arranged kind of like a square, and it was about five or six stories tall.  On the inside of the hotel was an open area where there were trees, a small pond, etc...  giving that "outside" feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In our room on the fourth floor we were unpacking our stuff, apparently getting ready for some sort of convention we were attending.  Kamino was sitting by the window with his feet propped up on the heater, drinking some Woodchuck.  JJNova kept wandering around the room like he didn't know where he was or what he was doing, until JJNova turned on his shitty little radio that he had with him.  It was playing Morning Train by Sheena Easton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed at his radio, and told him to wait a minute until I grabbed by good boombox and tuned it to the same station.  Once Sheena was playing louder and with better quality, JJNova perked up and started dancing around the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was getting weird for me, so I grabbed a can of beer and headed out on the balcony where I had my camcorder set up as a webcam, watching all the people in the open area below.  As soon as I went out there, the balcony began to shake and move, and my camcorder fell over the side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily the cable that connected it to my computer was strong enough that even though the camera fell over, it didn't hit the ground - instead just hanging a few floors down by the cable.  Some woman in a balcony in the floor above ours looked down at me and at what was going on, and remarked &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"You better get off there, that balcony ain't safe!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked over the balcony  for another few seconds and agreed with her.  It seems that our balcony was the only one made of planks of wood and rope to hold it up.  The wood had become rotten and the ropes were just barely holding on.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-5562124326869647531?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5562124326869647531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5562124326869647531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/02/balcony-collapse.html' title='Balcony Collapse'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-5910932004115994071</id><published>2007-02-25T00:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T01:03:59.201-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Worm Trees and Underground Church</title><content type='html'>I was riding in a boat, along some small creek, when we came upon a place where people were trying to "get us."  I hopped out of the boat and made my way to the edge of the creek, and began to head towards this area thick with trees.  I was going to grab a vine and swing across the creek to the other side, but as I reached for it I saw a big worm hanging from it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I jumped back a bit, startled by the big worm, and just then all of the trees began raining worms down on the ground in front of me.  My passage was blocked, so I had to find another way to escape.  I crawled through a few more trees and came to a small road marked I-71.  There was a larger overpass above the road, but I waited until I didn't see any cars and I ran across the road and under the bridge from the road above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was about halfway through, I noticed a tunnel leading off from underneath the overpass.  I turned on my flashlight and started walking back into this dark tunnel.  After a minute or two I started passing people that were going back towards where I came from.  They didn't seem concerned or in a hurry, so I continued...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally made it to the end of this tunnel, which ended up being inside of an abandoned house, which was completely buried underground.  There were other folks walking around inside with flashlights, looking at things, almost as if it was a museum or something.  Someone remarked that there was no way to know that the house was there if you were above ground, so I tried to turn on my cell phone to get the GPS coordinates, but it didn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first rooms were narrow, with old bottles displayed on shelves in the corners of the hallways.  Nothing was being vandalized, and besides everything being dark and dusty, the things  were in good shape.  I found a closet that people hadn't noticed, so I looked inside.  Towards the back of the closet there was a small hatch in the ceiling that led to an area where nobody seemed to have been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little kid was following me around, but when I went up into this "attic" type area, I told the kid to go back and find his mom - and I shut the hatch on him and covered it with items from inside this new room, so nobody else would come up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking around, I started finding Christmas presents.  Apparently they were hidden there from years before, but forgotten about.  One of them was addressed to my grandma, but by her first name.  I was starting to feel like it might actually be an old church that we were exploring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it.   :-/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-5910932004115994071?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5910932004115994071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/5910932004115994071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/02/worm-trees-and-underground-church.html' title='Worm Trees and Underground Church'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-6490297568392542025</id><published>2007-02-04T18:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-04T18:19:36.585-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird Randomness</title><content type='html'>It started out as a sunny day, and I was inside this big stadium...  similar to the OSU football stadium.  It was empty, except for a church group who was having their service on the field because their church had been destroyed by a tornado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of seats, the stadium was now filled with newly growing trees.  Each seat had a small tree in its place, and they were growing at a pace where you could actually see them move.  I made my way to the highest deck in the stadium and reached a level where I could step out onto solid ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I began to walk, George W Bush was suddenly jogging along beside of me.  We were following a path that went through a lot of thick trees.  We were making good time, then we came upon a place where the dirt trail had a pit in it, and we had to jump across to a wooden bridge on the other side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We both jumped and made it, but just barely.  The pit was only a few feet across, but it was probably 30 or 40 feet deep.  George was pissed that his men let him take a trail that would have such danger in it, and he began yelling at people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-6490297568392542025?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6490297568392542025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/6490297568392542025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/02/weird-randomness.html' title='Weird Randomness'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-2461407035071099842</id><published>2007-02-02T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-02T22:12:23.304-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gambling Again</title><content type='html'>I was gambling in a casino somewhere, although the surroundings didn't seem familiar to me.  I had just won a jackpot on a quarter slot machine, and the bells and whistles were going off as my credits tallied up on the machine.  At first I thought I won $100, but the number of credits kept going past 400.  A woman next to me pointed out that I hit a triple score, which meant that I was actually getting $300.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tally finally stopped adding up at $500.25.  I hit the button to cash out, and it printed out a ticket for my winnings along with lots of other papers.  I remarked to the attendant nearby that it was weird to have so many papers to fill out for a jackpot as little as $500.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was walking away from my machine I ran into Jenny Eveland, a girlfriend of mine from a long time ago.  She grabbed my hand and lead me towards the indoor pool area where some of our friends were waiting.  Bob Parsley was in there, getting ready to play some football in the pool.  Some kids started splashing all of us, so I left and went to the bathroom area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into the men's bathroom and saw two girls there waiting to use the restrooms with the closing doors.  At first I thought I had gone in the wrong restroom, but I looked at the door and saw the "MEN" sign...  they had just come into the men's side because there was a line in the women's restroom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-2461407035071099842?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/2461407035071099842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/2461407035071099842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/02/gambling-again.html' title='Gambling Again'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-116795723474291522</id><published>2007-01-04T19:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T19:33:54.756-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lots of Bills</title><content type='html'>I was in Atlantic City with my mom and my cousin Mongo, gambling on the boardwalk in the daytime.  We were in front of the convention center, and there were slot machines set up in a truck trailer, almost like how you'd see carnival games at a local fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was playing some sort of mechanical / video slot machine that showed winnings in some type of foreign currency, even though I was playing with regular quarters.  The slot didn't make any noise, but when I'd hit a winning combination it would display lots of numbers on two vertical red LED displays above the reels.  The numbers would say 2000, 2450, 3000, etc...   but once the totals were figured, a display at the top of the machine would show that I actually won like $11.25 or whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brought mom over to show her how the machine pays off as I was hitting a winning combination, and she started pressing buttons on my machine.  This stopped my payoff, and instead switched the machine over to a joystick controlled bonus game.  At first I was upset, thinking she completely canceled my payout - but I soon figured out how to play the bonus to add to my winnings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I played the videogame bonus stage, which involved controlling a little cartoon dog on a beach - making him jump up in the air to eat floating flowers, each of which added a few more coins to the bonus payout.  When I got done with that game, the game paid out in dollar bills.  I ended up getting a stack of about 50 of them, and decided to quit while I was ahead.  Everyone around me was cheering about my amazing winnings...  heh...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started off down the boardwalk to look through some of the shops, with Mongo running behind me...  but it sorta wasn't him.  He was shorter than me, younger than me, and kinda looked like a kid I went to elementary school with way back in the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-116795723474291522?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116795723474291522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116795723474291522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2007/01/lots-of-bills.html' title='Lots of Bills'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-116727652158339500</id><published>2006-12-27T22:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-27T22:29:15.203-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ravioli Arm</title><content type='html'>My cousin Shannon and I were hiding in the bushes along the road in front of her house.  It was either very early morning, or almost night...  either way, we were apparently trying to sneak down to our grandparents house which was two houses away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stayed low to the road, trying to stay covered by all the weeds and bushes along the side...  but then the plants started grabbing at us, and some of them actually started burrowing into the skin of my left arm.  We worked ourselves free and went up into the regular grass, but something had already started happening where the plants had gotten me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My arm was all mushy and weird, and there was a square patch of skin that was nearly cut off.  I told her not to worry about it, because I could just stitch it back in place and it would be okay.  No sooner did I say that, and the square patch of skin sunk down into my arm leaving a gaping hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I would start bleeding, but instead I could see ravioli filling the inside of my arm.  It was moving around as if it was alive, but it turned my whole arm limp and mushy.  I tried to grab the piece of skin before it disappeared into the ravioli, but I didn't get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-116727652158339500?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116727652158339500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116727652158339500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/12/ravioli-arm.html' title='Ravioli Arm'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-116664838480930161</id><published>2006-12-20T15:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-20T15:59:44.820-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Toy Scrounge</title><content type='html'>Dad and I were riding down an elevator at some casino, after winning some money.  We were in the elevator with some other man in a business suit, and I was carrying my winnings in a cash drawer.  As we were going down, the elevator quickly dropped a few floors - fast than it was supposed to, yet it slowed before we got to the ground floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We exited the elevator and made our way to this small K-mart-like store that was in the lobby of the hotel.  Apparently I was supposed to work there, which is why I had my money in the cash drawer.  Since I was gambling, I also had the little "lucky alien" that one of my friends gave me in that same drawer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got to the counter, I tossed my drawer up onto it - but I threw it too hard and it smashed to the floor behind the counter.  I figured that all of my money would be spilled out onto the floor, but only a few bills had actually come loose.  However, my alien had disappeared, probably landing underneath the racks of stuff in one of the rows behind the counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl there told me to go look under the shelves, and when I did I started finding all kinds of forgotten little toys in the dirt and dust under the shelves.  I started at the far end and worked my way backwards...  snatching up all these toys as I went.  I found my alien, but I also found other aliens that looked similar to mine.  I also found a squishy brain toy, and a sticky/gummy snail toy.  The shell was made of that sticky "wall waker" type material, and the body was made of the slimey "ooze" stuff that you can get out of those quarter machines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was sticking all this stuff in my pockets, I was worried that they were going to catch me and I'd be in trouble for trying to steal these toys - but since they had obviously been underneath these shelves for a long time, I didn't want to leave them there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-116664838480930161?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116664838480930161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116664838480930161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/12/toy-scrounge.html' title='Toy Scrounge'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-116137776303591786</id><published>2006-10-20T16:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T16:56:03.050-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Barbara Streisand?</title><content type='html'>I was sitting on a window ledge, on the third floor of an apartment building.  I had my camera with me, and I was taking picture of the actions below.  One of the neighbor girls was learning to drive, and I watched as she nearly drove her truck into a phone pole.  She got out and looked up and smiled, as if she was proudly posing for a picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was about that time that I realized that I was stuck out on this ledge, and I couldn't really turn around to come back in because there was a rail behind me that was only providing about 3 or 4 inches of ledge for me to sit on.  If I turned to come back in, I'd slide off the edge and fall.  I hollered for Genesee to come and hold on to my collar while I turned around, then I went inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside, I sat down at a booth in our kitchen.  Before I realized it, Barbara Streisand snuck up behind me and cornered me.  She was saying that I better get busy packing my stuff, because she had spoken with the landlord and was going to be moving in to my apartment very soon.  She said that because I had already informed the landlord that I was looking for a new place, she decided to go ahead and kick me out early so Barbara could move in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-116137776303591786?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116137776303591786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/116137776303591786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/10/barbara-streisand.html' title='Barbara Streisand?'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115924945848348522</id><published>2006-09-26T01:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-26T01:44:18.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Squirtman Shakedown</title><content type='html'>Jim and I were in some bowling alley late at night, and he was supposed to shake down some guy that owed his boss some money.  As we walked in, we noticed that nobody was bowling.  Instead, they were all facing the opposite direction of the lanes, watching a movie being shown on the front wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jim walked up to the guy and started telling him about how he needed to pay his boss the money, but the guy was obviously not scared by little Jim.  He kept rolling his eyes, basically not paying any attention to anything that Jim was telling him.  I saw that the message wasn't getting through to him, so I started playing "good cop" and began talking to him as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him that it had been a while since Jim had needed to kill anyone, but I'm sure that he wouldn't hesitate if his boss told him to do it.  We got up to leave and headed towards the door, where I saw this girl that looked like Christina Ricci, wearing this 1950's looking dress.  Some girl was walking with me out the door, and I shut the door after she walked out so I could tell the 50's girl how good she looked in her outfit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She smiled and said thanks, and then headed out to the truck with me.  Jim was driving this giant 4x4 truck with front and back seats, and we were parked right next to a yellow Lamborghini.  Me and the new girl got in the back seat and we all headed on our way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115924945848348522?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115924945848348522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115924945848348522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/squirtman-shakedown.html' title='Squirtman Shakedown'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115869095196491896</id><published>2006-09-19T14:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-19T14:35:51.976-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow Boarding</title><content type='html'>I was out in some remote location, trying to teach myself how to snowboard.  I was going uphill along some river, and was only able to scoot about 3 or 4 feet at a time, but then I figured out how to make my snowboard hover - and was able to go futher distances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran into Ami Phillips along the way, and she was carrying a bunch of broken VCRs up the hill to her house.  I tried to get her to let me help her with some of them, but she was very firm in that she could handle it.  I got the feeling that she wouldn't let me help because she didn't want me to think that a woman couldn't handle it by herself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115869095196491896?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115869095196491896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115869095196491896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/snow-boarding.html' title='Snow Boarding'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115843592593567939</id><published>2006-09-16T15:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-16T15:45:49.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Car Stuff and Work</title><content type='html'>Mom and I were going camping out in some jungle somewhere, and she was driving the car while hauling a HUGE trailer stacked with firewood.  We were deep in the jungle, when the road turned into this rickety looking stone bridge with no supports underneath.  It was like this stone bridge had grown out of the walls along the edge of this cliff, and it twisted and curved over this big open river.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rock bridge was barely wide enough for the car, and looked to be only a couple feet thick - so I told mom that I wasn't going to go across it with her.  She drove on anyway, and after making it past a few curves, the wheels of the trailer slipped off the edge and it fell down into the valley below.  Mom didn't even realize she lost it though, only saying "What was that?" after hearing the noise of the trailer and wood crashing to the ground far below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then came across a small house in the woods and went inside.  As I entered the door I clocked in, with it apparently being the place where I worked.  I got inside and found only a few of my coworkers sitting around a table.  Nobody was working because most of the people had called off that day.  No Tabatha, Ibra, Jamez, Larry, Tiffany, or Roger...   so they had decided that they just couldn't work at all today.  That was good, considering I wasn't allowed to work anyway.  After a few hours I asked Lisa if I could just go home, since I wasn't supposed to be there anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my way home, it was now night, and I was driving down the sidewalks in Haydenville.  There was road construction going on, so taking the sidewalks was the only option.  I began picking up speed, since there was nothing in my way to slow me down - but when I got to an alley, my car hit the edge of the sidewalk and flew across the gap.  When I landed all my tires went flat so I started walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was walking, I was taking inventory of all the construction equipment.  Counting the cement mixers, trucks, and laser printers.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Laser printers?)  &lt;/span&gt;There were other workers around now, but they didn't question what I was doing since I kept myself looking busy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115843592593567939?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115843592593567939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115843592593567939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/car-stuff-and-work.html' title='Car Stuff and Work'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115782436695088206</id><published>2006-09-09T13:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-09T13:52:46.953-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Iranian President</title><content type='html'>I was in the basement of Uncle Jay's house, and I was apparently being held there against my will by the president of Iran.  He was out in the garage, in a makeshift office, and I was stuck in the stairway - kept there by little blue gumballs along the walls on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got down on my hands and knees and began slowly approaching each of these little blue gumball traps, plucking the dark blue object off each one before it could alert anyone to my escape attempts.  After getting past a few of them, he came in and saw what I was doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He laughed, noting that they weren't really motion detectors at all, and that he was impressed by my attempts to escape.  I stood up and walked out into the garage with him and we started talking.  He was expressing to me how frustrating it is that nobody takes him seriously, and that he was bothered by how his country was being ignored and neglected by the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked outside and he showed me the field next to the house, now damaged by some big flood.  He said that he didn't mind that it happened, he just didn't like how nobody would step up and help them pay for or repair the damage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115782436695088206?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115782436695088206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115782436695088206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/iranian-president.html' title='Iranian President'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115782365588676987</id><published>2006-09-09T13:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-09T13:40:55.900-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flop House Girls</title><content type='html'>I was walking down a street in Lancaster when I came to the corner of 5th and High.  I got a call on my cell phone from April, who was apparently right across the street at this gas station which had been turned into a flop house / day care center type place.  I saw her, and she was smiling while she was giving me crap for not having gotten in touch with her lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went in to this place and saw lots of people and kids hanging around.  In one of the back rooms April and I ran into Angel, who was sitting on one of the couches.  I sat down and started talking to her, not noticing that Ami was also laying on this couch underneath some blankets.  When she popped out and made herself known, I started feeling weird that all these girls I once knew and hung out with all seemed to be in the same place at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made some explanations about something, then made my way to the front door to leave.  As I was going through the hallways, I passed lots of people standing in line to get someone's autograph... someone I didn't recognize.  On my way out the door I saw another girl I once dated, sitting in the front room.  She exclaimed...  "You aren't doing anything today...  why don't you let me come over and hit it?"  *laugh*  Apparently I wasn't interested, as I kept walking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115782365588676987?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115782365588676987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115782365588676987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/flop-house-girls.html' title='Flop House Girls'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115765561893806936</id><published>2006-09-07T14:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T15:00:18.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dish Chickens</title><content type='html'>Genesee came home from work and dumped a bunch of eggs into some lukewarm bathwater.  Within a few seconds, little chickens began hatching from all of them.  When they came out of their shells, they had little hats, shoes, and aprons on - and the climbed to the edge of the tub and began washing little dishes that we had placed there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was amusing, but I didn't think it was right for us to make these baby chickens clean tiny dishes for our amusement, so I scooted them all back into the water.  They'd swim around on top for a minute, then they'd plunk themselves under for a few seconds and then repeat the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After they swam around a while, I pulled the plug to let the water and broken shells out of the tub.  I didn't notice it at the time, but when the water and shells drasined out, so did the baby chickens.   :-(  I heard a "thump, thump, thump" as they all slid down the drain.  I started running some more water down there, and they actually used it to start swimming back up the drain pipe and into the bathtub - but when they came out the top, they were all dead.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(And they had turned into numbered birthday cake candles...  1, 4, 8,  and 3.)  &lt;/span&gt;Weird.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115765561893806936?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115765561893806936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115765561893806936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/09/dish-chickens.html' title='Dish Chickens'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115549674059529174</id><published>2006-08-13T14:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-13T15:19:00.653-04:00</updated><title type='text'>HUGE Apartments</title><content type='html'>Jim (Squirtman) and I were in some downtown location at night, and looking for a new apartment.  The first one we found was above some old factory building.  We climbed a set of stairs to get to the roof of the building, where we walked across the tar-paper to get to the big brick apartments built on top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as we arrived we saw a family that appeared to be moving out of one of the units.  We were handed the keys to apartment 272 and headed up several flights of stairs.  When we got to that apartment, the family was out in the hallway - getting the rest of their stuff out.  One woman grabbed me by the arm and told me to wait, but I went in to check the place out anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside, the apartment was huge...  the whole place had vaulted ceilings, with the first room being at least 30 or 40 feet wide/long.  Everything was old looking and dark, almost like an old school building.  The second room was almost as big, and then there was a third room towards the rear of the apartment that had a window that looked out over the city.  An interesting feature about this apartment was the bathroom, which had three urinals and two stalls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we turned to head back out of the apartment, some sort of sports team came in through the front and headed towards us in the back.  They started grabbing their coats and hockey gear, which was when Jim and I decided that this wouldn't be the best place to rent - and we left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While walking back out to the truck, I mentioned how kewl it would be that my apartment would only be a few blocks from his house.  At some point, Jim (Squirtman) turned into Jim, my cousin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't want to give up on this apartment building, so we went in again and went all the way to the top of the building to apartment 208.  Upon getting to the top floor, we entered an area which was as big as a typical basketball arena.  It was divided into apartment units by walls, that while very tall, did not reach all the way to the high ceiling.  We walked down the long corridor to the end, where we found unit 208.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon opening the door we saw that 208 was the biggest of all the units on the top floor.  It actually spanned the whole width of the building, and took up probably the last third of the basketball area sized area.  Me and Jim knew this would be a good place for us...  if we each set our sleeping areas at far sides of the building we wouldn't even see each other unless we wanted to.  But the best thing about this "apartment" was the huge open area right as you walk in.  We immediately thought of how we could have big parties or have people rollerskating or whatever.  There was even a balcony in the rear of the area that overlooked all of the space of the unit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only concern was the walls.  I was thinking that people might find some way to scale the walls between the units, since they didn't reach the ceiling - but then I figured that if I set my webcams up as a security system, we'd be fine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115549674059529174?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115549674059529174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115549674059529174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/08/huge-apartments.html' title='HUGE Apartments'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115341420510523404</id><published>2006-07-20T12:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T12:50:05.410-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost On The Way To The Thrift Store</title><content type='html'>I was heading to the thrift store in downtown Lancaster, and I took a shortcut down a back alley.  I was riding a bicycle, but the seat/pedals/handlebars were extended way up in there air - probably about 15 feet tall.  So, I'm riding high on my bike in this alley when I realized I had taken a wrong turn.  I was now behind a bunch of buildings where there was lots of trash and piles of crap in the alley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started to hop down to see what all the stuff was, when I noticed a couple of kids on their normal bikes, laughing at me and my bike.  I climbed down, because I felt like a doofus, and the kids came over and talked to me.  Apparently they were kids that I knew, because I went to their house with them and went inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their whole family was there, and I started helping them with some house remodeling that they were doing.  I helped the mom pull out a stove from the wall so she could clean, and then moved it back into place when she was done - but I broke off a piece of the drawer on the stove (?) when I plopped it down.  She wasn't mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dad was sitting and watching TV, so I went in and joined him for a few minutes.  While we were sitting there, a bunch of cheerleaders came up to the front door and started knocking.  One of them was riding a horse.  I yelled to one of the kids that their friends were there, and nobody seemed surpised that they had a horse on the front porch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115341420510523404?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115341420510523404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115341420510523404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/07/lost-on-way-to-thrift-store.html' title='Lost On The Way To The Thrift Store'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-115332586970442399</id><published>2006-07-19T11:55:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T12:17:49.720-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Buried Coins</title><content type='html'>I was walking through an abandoned town with Barb from work...   I'm not sure why, but we were walking through this dried up lakebed looking for MP3s.  I said that we wouldn't have any luck, since all the water had drained.  As we continued, she pointed out some basketballs that were stuck in the mud - saying that I could take those instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She continued on and into some old houses, and I stopped at a place that had a garage outside of it.  There were other people in the area now, and they looked to be doing some sort of clean-up / restoration on the land and buildings.  I went into the garage and started looking for things to clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the edge of this old garage where it attached to a crumbling old brick house.  Someone had already removed all the flooring and carpet, so all that was left was a mud floor.  Since there was nothing for me to work on there, I decided to look in the mud to see if anyone had lost any money or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I found a small stack of quarters and nickels pressed into the mud.  I could tell they were old, but they were still "regular" change.  I got excited, finding this few dollars in change, because I knew that nobody had looked over this area yet.  I continued digging in the mud near the door...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After finding a handful of regular change, I started seeing bigger coins further in the mud.  I started pulling them out...   old silver dollars.  The first several were muddy, but then I got further down and started pulling out stacks and stacks of loose shiny silver and gold dollars.  I started putting them on the table, in little plastic shopping bags.  The bags would get so heavy with gold and silver that they'd start to tear and I'd have to wrap them in paper too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started getting nervous that someone was going to come in and see me, because by this time I had gotten many thousands of dollars worth of coins out of the ground.  People were walking by the garage, but luckily they never came in.  I grabbed my bags of gold and silver and headed to a bank next door.  I asked a man in a suit "How much is this coin worth?" and gave him one, not leading on that I had many more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He quickly said "$600" and then said "Office."  I followed him into his private office, and he told me that bankers have a policy, and there is a different price he'd pay for the coins if it was an "ask no questions" type of sale.  I smiled and told him "That's good, because I have lots and LOTs of these things."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-115332586970442399?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115332586970442399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/115332586970442399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/07/buried-coins_19.html' title='Buried Coins'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-114848452869088198</id><published>2006-05-24T11:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-05-24T11:29:50.996-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What The Hell?</title><content type='html'>I was sleeping on the floor of the living room out at the old house on Bauman Hill.  Mom was asleep on the couch, when some kids came over that she was supposed to babysit.  Three of them...  two girls, one boy...  and the boy only had one arm.  They came right in, so I woke mom to let her know they were here - then I snuck upstairs to hide before their parents came in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got upstairs I had two water guns in my hand...  I snuck towards the bedroom and saw April's son standing at the bedroom door with his back towards me.  I snuck up and shot him with the squirt gun.  I went back downstairs to make sure mom got up, but when I got down there everyone was gone...  and it was now night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked up the icy road to Uncle Jay's, and found mom trying to sneak away.  She was driving a big pick-up truck, but she didn't have it on...  she was pushing it towards the end of the driveway with the engine off as if she didn't want anyone to know she was leaving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to our house and went in through the front porch, and all the kids were there again, along with a couple other older people that I didn't know.  I shuffled most of them out the door, but while they were holding the front door open I was worried that Kitty was going to get out.  Mongo was there, and he said that Kitty hadn't gotten out - but some other kitties had gotten in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked under the futon and there were dozens of cats, all mad and frantic, not wanting to be inside...  gray cats, black cats, and some cats that almost looked like Kitty.  I even stopped one on its way out the door because I thought it was Kitty.  Once they were all out there was just one animal left under the futon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This little wrinkly puppy grabbed ahold of my arm and wouldn't let go.  I lifted my arm (and the dog) into the air and shook it...   it still wouldn't come off my arm.  I then noticed that he had maggots and tomatoes all over the bottom of him.  I started freaking out because this gross dog was attached to my arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started peeling his paws back off my arm, and they folded like soft tortilla on a burrito...   in fact, the more I shook him, the more burrito type stuff fell off/out of him.  I kept shaking and shaking, eventually he started decomposing on my arm - turning into a pile of goo at the base of the futon, full of burrito ingredients.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-114848452869088198?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114848452869088198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114848452869088198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/05/what-hell.html' title='What The Hell?'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-114572355850157247</id><published>2006-04-22T12:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-22T12:49:23.030-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beverly Hills Conker</title><content type='html'>I was playing Conker's Bad Fur Day, and all I could see in my dream was the screen. In fact, it was more like my dream WAS the game - and I was inside it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started playing in a level at night that looked like the intersection of Main and Memorial here in town. Genesee hijacked a car, while her voice came out of the Conker character's mouth. She climbed in through the passenger side, so I assumed that I was going to drive - but when I walked around to the driver's side, she started to take off.   &lt;em&gt;(Much of the "audio" part of my dream was coming from the movie Beverly Hills Cop, which was playing as I slept.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I threw a rope around the bumper of the car, which was now my old beige Delta 88, and she took off up Memorial Drive. I was skiing behind her, surprised by the fact that it didn't hurt or damage my shoes/clothes in any way. She began to increase her speed, so much that the police were unable to catch up with us. We were flying through traffic lights, reaching speeds of 50-60 MPH. When we passed the Jolly Pirate donut shop, we saw a cruiser sitting there - but he did not see us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She continued speeding up Memorial Drive, and I began to pull myself closer to the car by reeling in the rope. At one point this actually launched me forward, until I was nearly side-by-side with the car. As we reached the old Bob Evan's, I was suddenly now inside the car, but was so tiny that I couldn't see over the dashboard. I pulled into the parking lot there by looking out cracks in the door, and almost hit a big red truck that had followed us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-114572355850157247?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114572355850157247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114572355850157247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/04/beverly-hills-conker.html' title='Beverly Hills Conker'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-114094103388858518</id><published>2006-02-26T03:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-26T03:03:53.896-05:00</updated><title type='text'>House Shopping</title><content type='html'>I was going around Millersport, checking out houses that I was interested in buying.  My aunt was showing different places to me, and one of them was the house I grew up in while I was in my elementary school years.  We went inside and saw that it had been totally remodeled since I had lived there, with several of the walls and doorways having been moved or changed.  The large furnace vent in the middle of the living room was gone now as well.  I instinctively went to check out the smaller bedroom first, which was originally my bedroom, before I realized that this would be MY house now and I could have the big bedroom.  While we were looking around, I kept hearing knocking at the front door.  We both just seemed to ignore it though, as neither of us never went to see who it was or why they were knocking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-114094103388858518?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114094103388858518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114094103388858518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/02/house-shopping.html' title='House Shopping'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-114065736766653524</id><published>2006-02-22T20:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-22T20:16:07.676-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Squirtman on Law &amp; Order</title><content type='html'>I was watching TV at my grandma's house, when Law and Order came on...  and Squirtman was one of the actors on it.  The scene started with SquirtFlirt, who had some form of mental retardation, doing some sort of skit.  It continued with Squirtman ( &lt;a href="http://www.squirtman.com"&gt;www.squirtman.com&lt;/a&gt; ) in his trademark american flag jacket being interrogated by some detectives at a police station.  I didn't watch much more than that, instead I went around to the friends in the house saying "I didn't know he was on Law and Order!  He didn't even call me!  When did this all go down?" and such.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-114065736766653524?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114065736766653524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114065736766653524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/02/squirtman-on-law-order.html' title='Squirtman on Law &amp; Order'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-114033755128961701</id><published>2006-02-19T03:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-19T03:25:51.300-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrity Women</title><content type='html'>I was sitting on the couch one evening with the girls that play "Summer" and "Marissa" on The OC.  We were in some ratty house, just watching some sort of TV show or movie.  I commented Summer that I liked her eye-shadow, but wondered why she was all dressed up when were just gonna hang around the house and watch TV.  Marissa looked over at us and rolled her eyes, as if I said something stupid...  and just then her mom came in and started bitching at us.  She was yelling at me, saying that I shouldn't be hanging around with people like her daughter, and that I just needed to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did, but only to the other room, where Lisa Loeb was also sitting there watching TV.  She was watching episodes of her Number One Single TV show, apparently watching herself to see what she liked and didn't like about the show.  I sat down next to her as the "butt shot" part of one of the episodes was shown.  We laughed about it, and I told her that she was crazy for doing that, and she replied that she was just feeling goofy at the time, and that she can't believe it herself that she did that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-114033755128961701?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114033755128961701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/114033755128961701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/02/celebrity-women.html' title='Celebrity Women'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113846075087240137</id><published>2006-01-28T09:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-28T10:10:41.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hick Town Cult</title><content type='html'>Wesley Snipes and I were travelling through some hick town one evening, on our way to somewhere else, but he noticed that a car had been following us so we pulled into a gas station.  Wesley said he was worried that the car behind us might have a firearm in it, so we wanted to see if it would go past us or stop where we were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It turns out the car following us was an unmarked police car.  I got out of the car, started filling it with gas to appear as if we were just acting normally, not just stopping because we knew we were being followed.  The sherrif got out of his car and came up to talk to Wesley, who was still sitting in the back seat of our car.  He ordered him out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told Wesley to get out of the car and lay on the ground with his hands behind him.  Using the words "Boy" and "Son" often, the sherrif made it clear to Wesley (and everyone within earshot) that the town didn't want black people around, even if only passing through.  I was considering apologizing to Wesley for bringing him through this town, because I didn't know they acted that way, but I decided it was better to stay silent as to not irritate the sherrif.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told us both to get back in the car, Wesley in the back and me in the front passenger seat.  He got in the driver's seat, and began driving us down some dark deserted road.  Obviously we were concerned, so I was trying to think of what the sherrif's plans might be for us - and how I could get us out of it.  The sherrif drove with one hand on the wheel, and one hand on his gun - which was aimed at Wesley in the back seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended up on Bauman Hill Rd, outside of Lancaster, when the sherrif finally stopped the car along side the road.  In the back seat there was now a three-year-old boy, who also had a gun aimed at Wesley.  The sherrif got out of the car and headed towards a house, after telling us that the boy would shoot either of us if we tried to escape.  As soon as he was out of view, of course we hit the small child in the head, took his gun, and fled into the woods on the other side of the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We worked our way about 20 yards into the thick woods, hiding behind trees and heavy growth.  At this point we split up, hoping that we'd be less noticable when the sherrif started looking for us.  I could see the spotlight shining from where our car was parked, but the woods provided enough shelter for us not to be spotted.  I continued crawling further into the woods, where I came across more people that had taken shelter from that same sherrif.  They had created their own little community in a tiny cabin deep in the woods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once they saw me and took me inside, I realized that I was now trapped by this little cult.  They had become so afraid of people, they would not allow anyone to leave once they had entered.  JT Walsh was there, and he came up to me and told me that they were out of food, and that I probably wouldn't be able to eat anything for days.  After he walked away, a few of the other cult members came up to me and showed me that there was plenty of food in some trash bags in the kitchen - but JT feared that it was all tainted, so he didn't want us to eat it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113846075087240137?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113846075087240137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113846075087240137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/01/hick-town-cult.html' title='Hick Town Cult'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113702251397940143</id><published>2006-01-11T18:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T18:35:13.983-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Betty Boop Time Travel</title><content type='html'>It was night, and I was travelling through this abandoned town, but instead of walking or driving my car - I was swinging through the town on a cable that was somehow attached to the sky.  The city was about a mile long, and I was swinging back and forth in a zig-zag motion from left to right as I progressed through the town.  I was talking to Dad via a communicator headset, and I was relaying back to him what I was seeing.  There was also a camera attached to the headset, because when I swung past one certain house he remarked that I had already been there before, and that I went into that house and was beating things with a big stick.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(???)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was almost all the way through the town when I saw the ghostly figure of a woman standing near a fence at the left side of the city limits.  I swung over by her and could hear that she was singing some old style song from the '30s or something.  Instead of continuing forward through the town, I just kept swinging back and forth in the location where this ghost was.  I was surprised when she looked up and noticed me...  her head glowing and eyes fixed on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lowered myself and swung closer to her so I could get a better look, to see if it really was a ghost.  That's when I noticed her head was quite a bit bigger than it should be, and that she looked like the Betty Boop cartoon character.  I thought it might be someone with a mask on, playing a joke - but I swooped in and grabbed the hair of this person, and when I tugged I could tell that it was real hair on a real head.  She didn't get mad, but she just kept watching me swinging back and forth, as she glowed and faded in and out in the darkness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured I should try to capture her and take her back &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(to wherever I was going)&lt;/span&gt; so on one of my swoops I grabbed around her, trying to pick her up.  At this point everything around me changed.  It was if I had travelled to another time, but in the same location.  I fell from my cable and landed on the ground next to her.  At this point she vanished, but I was still in this new time.  I thought that I might have been sent back to the 1930s, but when I looked at a newspaper on the ground, the date said it was the year 2170.  This didn't make sense to me, because when I looked around, there were no signs of technology or any other futuristic things.  The year 2170 could have easily been mistaken for the early 1900s.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then jumped back into my current time, and told Dad about what I had experienced, and he documented all of the things that I had seen in the future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113702251397940143?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113702251397940143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113702251397940143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/01/betty-boop-time-travel_11.html' title='Betty Boop Time Travel'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113625207040299619</id><published>2006-01-02T20:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T20:34:30.420-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Atlantic City</title><content type='html'>I was in Atlantic City in the evening, walking north on the boardwalk with mom and her friend, who looked a lot like Nancy Grace.  Me and mom stopped in at one of the arcades, and while she went straight to the back to get some quarters, I strolled slowly down the aisles looking at the classic arcade games that they had.  Nobody was playing, and most of the machines had the sound off - so there wasn't that familiar arcade ambience that you'd expect to hear.  I remarked about this to mom, but she wasn't paying attention to me, instead intently collecting her quarters from the change machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked down at the carpeted floor and noticed a quarter was laying there.  I then heard the sound of a quarter fall into one of the coin return slots of a nearby game.  I snatched them both up, along with some other random coins on the floor.  At this point, the girl behind the prize counter noticed me and said "Here."  I looked at her with a bit of confusion, as she stuck out her hand and again said "Here." as if I was supposed to give her those coins.  I said "Yeah, right!" to which she replied "If you don't give those to me you will be banned from this arcade and will never be allowed to come in again."  I laughed, told her that I didn't care &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(nobody was in there anyway...  her loss) &lt;/span&gt;and then we left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Continuing up the boardwalk we past several of the familiar stores.  I stopped at one of the clothes shops for a minute, since they had Nascar baseball jersies on sale.  They were 3/$18, or $9 each.  They had Tony Stewart, Dale Earnhardt, Kevin Harvick, and Jamie McMurray shirts.  I happened to be wearing the same Dale Earnhardt shirt that they were selling, so I didn't buy another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to the more vacant part of the boardwalk before Resorts, and mom and Nancy began almost running.  I thought this was weird, because normally I'd be the one that was walking too fast.  I motioned to mom to let Nancy know we were going too fast, but she just shrugged her shoulders as if she couldn't do anything about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't keep up, and at this point I was now in my old Oldsmobile with Genesee.  We had pulled up in front of this old beat up looking house in the country.  Apparently we were waiting for someone to come home, so we parked sideways in the road directly in front of their driveway.  This wasn't good though, because soon we saw the headlights of a car coming towards us in each direction down the road.  I was hurrying to try to move the car out of the road, but I couldn't find my keys.  We rocked the car back and forth enough that the car coming from our right went by in front of us, and luckily the car coming from our right turned off on a side road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that we weren't worried about getting hit, I found the keys, started the car and peeled out of the road and into the driveway.  We noticed that in one of the junk cars we could see poofy hair in the front seat.  We figured it must be Toni and Anna, there babysitting the kids of the people we were looking for.  A minute after that Wendi walked by, noticed us, and stopped and said hi.  She had hur current head, but her little body like when she was 10 or something.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113625207040299619?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113625207040299619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113625207040299619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2006/01/atlantic-city.html' title='Atlantic City'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113405927827950862</id><published>2005-12-08T11:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-08T11:52:08.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Nekkid Webchick Neighbor</title><content type='html'>Me, James, and Larry were walking along some railroad tracks that went through town, on our way back home from somewhere. As we were getting close to our backyard, a train started to approach. We all got off the tracks so the train could pass, but as it did - the engine released the cars that it was pulling. Larry seemed annoyed by this, so he went back up on the tracks, pushed against the free-rolling train cars, and sent them rolling in the other direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Larry and Jeff were now inexplicably gone, so I continued through that backyard and headed inside my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went inside to find the neighbor girl sitting on my futon, watching TV, apparently just waiting for me to get home. She wasn't wearing anything too terribly sexy, but she was still cute. I felt like I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn't put my finger on it. She asked me if I would take a few pictures of her to put on her website, so I grabbed my camera and took a few random shots. She left shortly after that, but invited me to come next door for dinner with her parents later that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went over to her house, I could see that they had cooked up a special dinner. I wasn't sure what the occassion was, but I made myself at home after greeting her parents. We all sat down at the table as the neighbor girl &lt;em&gt;(whom I knew now as Lindsey) &lt;/em&gt;began to serve the food. It was much like a Thanksgiving dinner... sweet potatoes, rolls, stuffing, etc... but the main course that she was serving was &lt;strong&gt;gravy-filled loaves of bread&lt;/strong&gt;. Her parents didn't seem surprised by this at all, so I played along and had some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were eating our gravy bread, I suddenly realized where I had recognized her from. She was a model at an adult web site. I had seen her pictures before in various places, but it wasn't until now that I recognized her. I exclaimed &lt;em&gt;"Ahh! You're Lindsey from RealPeachez.com!"&lt;/em&gt; Her eyes got big, surprised that I had recognized her... and ratted her out in front of her parents. She snapped back with &lt;em&gt;"Don't call me that! My name is Ruth!"&lt;/em&gt; I just assumed that she was hiding what she did from her parents, so again I played along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner continued and she tried to serve us several more loaves of gravy bread, but I had my fill and was trying to find an excuse to leave. Finally we all got up from the table, and I made my way towards their front door. In the living room, on my way out, I noticed that several professional photographers were setting up expensive equipment and lights. It was then that I realized that her parents help her run her website out of their living room, and that she had invited me over so that she could try to have a normal life - in contrast to her online Lindsey persona. I felt a bit silly, having used my relatively cheap digital camera to shoot some normal candid photos of her earlier, considering that she was obviously used to much more professional equipment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(You can visit the actual RealPeachez web site by &lt;a href="http://www.realpeachez.com"&gt;clicking here&lt;/a&gt;. Obviously, adult content ahead... heh)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113405927827950862?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113405927827950862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113405927827950862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-nekkid-webchick-neighbor.html' title='My Nekkid Webchick Neighbor'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113088778608640035</id><published>2005-11-01T18:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-01T18:56:21.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Weirdness With The Girls I Know</title><content type='html'>This dream started out with me, Misty, and my cousin Jim - all camping in a field near a big forest. It was night, and Jim and I thought it would be funny to scare Misty by making her think that something came out of the woods and took me away. We all grabbed our flashlights and headed towards the edge of the woods, flashlights in hand... when Jim made a noise to distract Misty. When she looked in his direction, I dove into the weeds and bushes that were along the edge of the woods. I shut off my flashlight and lay there quietly, waiting to hear if she got scared. Well, shortly after that - I saw something dart out of the woods, snatch Misty up, and pull her down into the ground. Jim and I ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dream then changed to where I was still walking through the woods at night, but this time I was following Tabatha to her house, where she was having a big bonfire. I was walking her home from work, which I could tell because we had our uniforms on, and when we got to the top of the hill near her property line I saw some guy standing there. I asked if it was okay if I walked up to the house with her, or if her husband would get mad, and she said it should be okay. I walked along with her, and when I went past this guy standing there Tabatha didn't say anything. I assumed it was her husband, but when I tried to introduce myself to him - the guy just walked away, saying his name was Jimmy. We never did see her husband, and the night continued with a bunch of us sitting around a big bonfire joking and laughing. This part of the dream ended when a bunch of Africans came up to me and started bugging me, asking me if I had change for a $20.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then woke up (in my dream) in the living room of Jim's old house on Hubert Ave, in the middle of the night, to the sound of people knocking on my door. It turns out that it was Pam, one of my good friends from high school. I guess she had moved to Lancaster a few months before that, and she wanted to stop by and catch up. It was probably 3am, but she came inside and we sat down in the dark living room to talk about stuff... but I kept nodding off, because I was so tired. I was trying to tell her about a crazy dream I had just had about her, but I only got about half-way through before I started throwing up pumpkin guts and falling asleep. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Gross, I know)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;But I woke up a few minutes later, continued telling her about my dream... which, oddly enough, was the dream I actually had about Misty, which I mentioned earlier in this entry. She told me how her and her husband had gotten a divorce, and that's why she moved back to Ohio from Florida. We both fell asleep in the living room there, but we were awakened shortly after by a PIG walking into the room and sniffing at my ear. I jumped up, and Pam woke up and started shouting at the pig... she said its name was Fred. How she knew, I have no idea.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113088778608640035?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113088778608640035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113088778608640035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/11/weirdness-with-girls-i-know.html' title='Weirdness With The Girls I Know'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-113018262448180554</id><published>2005-10-24T15:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T07:46:47.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Living Dead Game</title><content type='html'>I was living in my old house in Millersport, when two of my old friends stopped by to see me. First Ami and her husband stopped by, but I was asleep - so they just knocked on the door and then left when I didn't answer. Pam stopped by later, when it was getting dark, and we decided to take a walk up through the park and towards the school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was dark now, and we were concerned that someone would catch us on school property when we weren't supposed to be, so we were sneaking through the woods that surrounded the school property. I heard voices in the distance, so I told her to lay down on the ground so that we could blend in until the people went by. Well, within a few minutes we saw several dozen people staggering around, making noise, heading in the direction of the school. I motioned to Pam to get up so we could continue, to see what was going on, but she had fallen asleep on the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She woke up and continued towards the school with me, but we were immediately spotted by a bunch of the staggering people... people that we realized were dead zombies, roaming the land around the school. We figured the best way to avoid being attacked was to pretend that we were zombies too, and it worked. We staggered along with the rest of the dead people until we reached the rear of the school where there was a giant dragon, made of ceramic material.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dragon reared back and was going to attack a bunch of us walking nearby, so my reaction was to defend me and Pam - so I took out a sword and attacked the dragon, causing the body to smash into pieces and the giant head to fall to the ground. I felt like I was in a videogame at this point, so I tried to think what a game character would do next. Normally when you beat a "boss" character, you are rewarded with a coin or a key... so I smashed the head open by slamming it on the ground again, and inside I found a key that would allow Pam and I to escape into the school, away from the zombies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, the zombies had noticed when I attacked and killed the dragon - so they realized that me and Pam weren't one of them. Three zombies immediately attacked me, one of them pushing me to the ground and another one of them trying to bite and infect me - but Pam saved me at the last moment by stabbing them in the spine, killing them. Then, for reasons that we never figured out, Pam discovered that she could turn all the zombies back into humans by kissing them. So, she went around carefully kissing all the zombies without being bit - saving the day and turning most everyone back to normal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-113018262448180554?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113018262448180554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/113018262448180554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/10/living-dead-game.html' title='Living Dead Game'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112894789694474841</id><published>2005-10-10T08:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-10T08:38:17.013-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Larry</title><content type='html'>I was driving my car, on my way to work, when I felt all four tires go flat. I pulled over and got out my little mini-go-kart and started to continue the drive to my job. When I went into a little valley beneath a highway overpass, the cement was freshly poured - and my little go-kart quickly sank and got stuck. I hopped out and began walking, when I noticed Larry walking on the other side of the road in the same direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told Larry how I was having car troubles and I was late for work, so he offered me a ride in his tractor trailer.  When I got into the back of the trailer, I saw that he had kidnapped a man and a girl, and was forcing them to go to work with us.  The man was all screaming and crazy, but the girl didn't seem quite as upset.  Larry then shot the man, sending him falling out of the back of the moving trailer - and the girl and I began singing "The Rodeo Song" in order to appear "at ease" with Larry, in hopes that he didn't shoot us as well.  It was strange though, because the girl was singing the song, but all the lyrics were wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112894789694474841?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112894789694474841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112894789694474841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/10/crazy-larry.html' title='Crazy Larry'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112838500675687074</id><published>2005-10-03T20:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T20:16:46.766-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Buckeye Lake Corpses</title><content type='html'>I was out on my pontoon boat, on Buckeye Lake, when I saw two giant tour boats heading towards each other.  These boats were full of tourists, mostly old people.  When one of the boats entered the wake of the other, it went up into the air and flipped over - tossing all of the old people into the water.  Instead of swimming, all of the old people instantly died, as if they had fallen into a vat of poison or acid or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drove my boat to the docks at Leibs Island and got out to tell everyone what I had seen.  As I was doing that, I noticed that a Buckeye Lake Ranger was following me in her own boat - pulling all of the dead people in the water towards the shore.  I started yelling at her, telling her that she was going to be bringing disease to everyone that was there.  She kept insisting that she needed to pull the corpses in, so they could be burned and disposed of properly.  In order to get away from the diseased corpses, I got back in my boat and headed back towards the middle of the lake - while the ranger arranged all the bodies in a pile near a shallow section of the shore and began to set them all on fire.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112838500675687074?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112838500675687074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112838500675687074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/10/buckeye-lake-corpses.html' title='Buckeye Lake Corpses'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112708194721648947</id><published>2005-09-18T18:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T18:19:07.223-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wendi Lost Her Jacket</title><content type='html'>I was sitting near the edge of a lake, taking photographs, when I saw my cousin Wendi and one of her friends standing on the docks near the small marina.  They were looking in the water, talking to some official looking person that was standing next to them.  It seems that Wendi had dropped her jacket into the lake, and she was convincing them that they needed to drain the lake so that she could get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before they did, I snuck over to that area and walked out on one of the boat docks.  The path was wide as it went out over the water, until I reached an area that was only about 6" wide.  I hopped down onto this beam that was going over the water, and I then realized that I was too scared to turn around and get back on the regular dock - so I'd have to try to run along this beam, back to the shore.  I took several steps and was doing okay, then the beam connected to a big log...  and when I stepped on the log, it began to roll in the water.  I kept going and luckily made it to shore without falling in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of mine from high school was watching as I did this, and he made some sort of comment about it - and then he told me to look at his bumper on his truck.  I was still shocked that I made it all the way without falling into the water, but he didn't want to hear about that.  He told me again to look at his bumper, which had fallen off and left only the attaching bolts.  I pulled that part the rest of the way off and remarked how it looked like one of those Ab-Flex exercise devices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked back along the shore to where I was taking pictures before and watched them drain the lake.  Slowly the water level dropped, and even when the bottom of the lake was visible near the docks where Wendi was, there was no sign of her jacket.  The officials were getting mad and then ended up calling her dad.  Rick arrived and seemed mad as he walked by me, towards Wendi.  Vicki was there as well, and she was just milling around by the shore - getting in the way while I was trying to take pictures of Wendi searching for her jacket.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112708194721648947?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112708194721648947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112708194721648947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/09/wendi-lost-her-jacket.html' title='Wendi Lost Her Jacket'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112642752245270931</id><published>2005-09-11T04:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-11T04:32:02.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Napoleon, Erica, Amanda, Tabatha, Stevie, Kelly, Flying...</title><content type='html'>It was nighttime and I was in the parking lot of Media Play in Columbus, although it was still the Children's Palace store that it was many years ago.  I came out of the store and walked past a payphone...  stuck my finger in the change slot and found a quarter.  At another payphone just a few steps from me was the guy that played Napoleon Dynamite.  As I walked towards him he got off the phone and walked to his car.  Just to see, I stuck my finger in the change slot of that phone too and found $1.50 in quarters.  I yelled to him that I found a bunch of quarters, and he replied "Lucky!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then Stevie came walking out of the store and towards my direction.  I told him how I just found a bunch of quarters in the phone, and that there was a baggie sitting next to it full of pennies and nickels, and that he should take it.  He freaked out and started running away from me, saying that I was only trying to get him in trouble and that he wasn't going to take it.  I grabbed the bag, since he didn't, and I noticed that it also had some tobacco in it - and it was water damaged from sitting in the rain for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the bag with me to the parking lot and headed to my car.  Amanda was sitting in the car waiting for me, and she saw that I was carrying a bag so she asked me what was in it.  As I was explaining to her, I threw the bag away and hit Erica McLaughlin's car.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(A girl I went to high school with many moons ago.)  &lt;/span&gt;Erica and Tabatha picked up the bag, and in the process of fishing out the coins - they started grabbing clumps of the wet tobacco and threw them at us in my car.  We were stuck in the parking lot, as there was a lot of traffic waiting to get out of the place, so the clumps kepts hitting me, hitting the car, making a mess of the area.  Amanda was mad and wanted to get out and confront the other girls, but I just told her to stay in the car as I jumped all the way in and shut and locked our doors.  Tabatha then went driving by in front of my car, shouting something at us.  A space in the traffic finally opened up, so we were able to squeeze out and head home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once back at the house, it was getting light and Kelly was waiting there for a ride home.  He didn't really say or do anything, other than patiently waiting and following me around.  In order to get him home, I hopped on this tiny little wooden chair - about the size of my fist - and started to fly.  I was still inside the house, and I was still learning how to make the chair fly properly - because every time I would start to get a little too high, the chair would become unstable and I'd have to jump off and land on the ground again.  Mom and Genesee were getting annoyed that I couldn't seem to get it right, so I explained to them that I had never flown a chair that small - and that it was hard for me to get a handle on the controls when they were so tony.  Eventually we made it out of the house and headed slowly down some back country road.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112642752245270931?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112642752245270931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112642752245270931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/09/napoleon-erica-amanda-tabatha-stevie.html' title='Napoleon, Erica, Amanda, Tabatha, Stevie, Kelly, Flying...'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112493018628833378</id><published>2005-08-24T20:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T20:36:26.293-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Accidental Break-In</title><content type='html'>Amanda and I were shopping in Columbus in the evening, and we decided to stop by the Final Markdown.  The parking lot was empty, but all of the lights were on in the store, so we got out of the car and headed towards the doors.  The store was lit as if it were open, but we couldn't see anyone inside.  Amanda decided that we should go in anyway, so I unlocked the door with my key and we headed inside.  About 15 seconds after we went in, we heard an alarm go off.  I asked Amanda why she didn't disable the alarm system, and she told me that she didn't remember the code.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We quickly headed back out the door, because I told her Armond would be coming soon to find out why the alarm on his store was going off.  She ran out to the car, I walked at a normal pace behind her - but when we noticed that nobody was coming, we turned around and walked back into the store.  The alarm was no longer going off, so we thought things might be okay now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we were inside, we noticed that several other people had come in and were starting to steal things.  We tried to tell them that the alarm was just going off, and that people would be coming to check on the store soon, but nobody wanted to listen.  Before we could convince those people to get out, the police arrived.  We all ran towards the back of the store and into one of the storage rooms.  We could see the police going up and down the aisles, looking for intruders, and we realized that we were trapped in the back room with nowhere to hide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as the police started catching some of the other people, Amanda and I noticed a big piece of plywood that was propped up against one of the back walls.  There was just enough room for us to hide behind it, so we jumped over a railing and ducked behind the plywood until the police had rounded up the rest of the people and left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112493018628833378?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112493018628833378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112493018628833378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/08/accidental-break-in.html' title='Accidental Break-In'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112277080629478857</id><published>2005-07-30T20:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T20:46:46.300-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Crushing Elevator</title><content type='html'>I was staying at a hotel in an Atlantic City casino, and I had to take one of the elevators to get from my room - down to the casino floor.  Once I got in, the elevator started going down - but as it did, the ceiling started to come down towards the floor even faster.  The elevator was slowly going to crush me, and my only hope was that I would reach the bottom floor before the ceiling reached the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was passing the 4th, 3rd, 2nd floors...  I saw a chance to roll out of the current elevator and into one that was travelling beside mine.  I rolled out and the compartment I was just in sealed up, but this elevator was doing the same thing.  Luckily, as the ceiling had me pressed against the floor, the elevator arrived at my floor and the doors opened up to let me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a woman standing there, looking at me laying on the ground, and she helped me up.  She took me over towards the casino security office to file a report about what happened.  As I was waiting for the security guard to take my statement, a cleaning lady that worked for that same casino started laughing at me and telling me that I was full of it, and that none of what I said even happened.  I started yelling back at her and threatening to chase her down and kill her if she didn't shut up, because I had video to prove what happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Dad were playing slots right next to the security office, so they both heard what happened - but they didn't seem interested, almost as if they were embarassed by the situation and didn't want anyone to realize that they knew who I was.  The woman &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(who now is recognizable...  it was Amanda from work...)&lt;/span&gt; and I then left the security office and headed towards the area of the casino where the "grabby games" are.  I looked through a few of them, and played a couple times - trying to use the claw to grab a stuffed animal for Amanda, but I was never sucessful.  We had to leave empty handed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112277080629478857?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112277080629478857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112277080629478857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/07/crushing-elevator.html' title='Crushing Elevator'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112154805074831029</id><published>2005-07-16T17:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-16T17:07:30.753-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ryan Newman Visits</title><content type='html'>I was in the middle of spring cleaning at my house when Ryan Newman came over for a visit.  This was the first time I had met him, so I was a little nervous.  He got to the house and we went out back to try out the new go-kart track that I had built.  I told him that he could take the lead and I'd follow him around the track so I could find out what the best racing line was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as we started our first lap, I could tell he wasn't willing to help me learn.  He went out and started racing all crazy, doing donuts, running into other cars and into the walls...  so we just put in a few laps and then quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I headed back inside and started cleaning up the extra room where my computer and XBOX system was, and Ryan sat in the living room watching TV with Genesee.  While I was cleaning, I was also taking breaks to get online and check my mail and stuff - and before I knew it, several hours had passed.  I remembered that Ryan was waiting in the living room for me to finish up my cleaning so we could play some XBOX, but when I went out to check on him he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cousin Jim was there instead.  He said that Ryan left a while ago, because he thought I had fallen asleep in my chair.  Jim then gave me a bunch of stuff that he found while he was at work, including an alarm clock and a laptop computer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112154805074831029?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112154805074831029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112154805074831029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/07/ryan-newman-visits.html' title='Ryan Newman Visits'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112061516198623810</id><published>2005-07-05T21:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T22:17:55.786-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Bus Ride</title><content type='html'>Amanda and I were working nightshift in a casino somewhere, and it was time for us to clock out and go home. We made our way to an exit, but we kept trying to scan our badges and were having no success. I swiped mine a few times in a reader on one side of the wall, she did the same on the other side. She started pressing buttons on the intercom, trying to get security to let us out - just as someone came out of a side room to show us an alternative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy showed us that if we stuck our badges in this older looking card reader, it would clock us out and let us out of the building. I ran my badge through the machine, and it spit out a paper receipt with handwritten entries showing my name, badge number, the time I clocked out, along with a couple other things. Amanda did the same and we headed on our way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as we got outside we hopped in a taxi that was waiting there. I got in the driver's seat, she got in the back. As we started to take off, I realized that the roads were icy and the drop-off area where we were was covered was very constricted. I slowly pulled out of the taxi queue and turned to head down the hill past the bus stop pickup area. As I went down the hill I pushed the brake pedal to the floor, but the taxi still kept sliding down the hill past some people and towards the busses. The road was narrow so there was no way for me to avoid hitting the bus if we didn't stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we reached the bottom of the hill, we were now suddenly on the bus that we were going to hit with the taxi. Instead of Amanda, it was now Gloria that was with me. The bus was parked, and we heard a voice saying that it was the bus driver's 25th anniversay with the company, and that if anyone wanted to shake her hand they should come outside now. Everyone left the bus except for me and Gloria... so I ran up front and took over, pulling away from the bus stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We travelled until it was getting light, then we stopped off at a rest area. There was an older "mom &amp; pop" type truck stop there that sold a variety of things, including NES games which were advertised on their display as "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3 for $7.00&lt;/span&gt;"  We got back on the bus and continued down the road...  and without explanation it was nighttime again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I attempted to take an exit off of the freeway, but the bus was going too fast. We started onto the ramp but realized that the brakes weren't slowing the bus enough to make the curve - so I turned the wheel left and made the bus jump off the road and down towards the interstate that we were wanting to merge onto. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Picture the I-270 S -to- I-70 E exit on the east side of Columbus)&lt;/span&gt; The bus banged the ground as it jumped off the road, quickly crossed the other road, and headed towards an embankment on the other side. When we hit it, the bus went up in the air but landed relatively gently a few hundred feet later. We were driving off the side of the road, but the bus was still travelling way too fast. We hit another hill on the side of the road, sending the bus flipping and flying through the air again. We landed on the wheels without damage and ended up coming to a rest outside of a videogame convention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got out of the bus to make sure we didn't hurt anyone and to explore what was going on.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(It was Amanda that was with me again.  *shrug*)&lt;/span&gt; We saw Carl when we got out of the bus, and realized it was some sort of Star Wars / XBOX convention, and there were rows and rows of people standing around at game machines. As we walked past them, I remarked to Carl that they must be using XBOX 360 technology - because everyone we walked past actually had the face of someone that I knew. It seemed that something scanned my PC, downloaded all of my personal pictures, and then displayed the faces from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;those&lt;/span&gt; pictures onto the people that were playing the game machines. We walked around for a while, looking at people and trying to figure out what picture their face came from.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112061516198623810?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112061516198623810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112061516198623810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/07/crazy-bus-ride.html' title='Crazy Bus Ride'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-112025273954930132</id><published>2005-07-01T17:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-01T17:18:59.553-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Wheel</title><content type='html'>I had just purchased a new adult sized big-wheel and was out in the road in front of the house, getting ready to take it for a test drive.  For some reason, it wasn't ridden like a big-wheel most of us had when we were kids.  You had to actually lay on your stomach on the big-wheel to operate it, pedalling the thing with your hands.  So, I was on the thing, resting my head on the handlebars to steer...  and I headed down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went a couple of blocks and then turned around to go back to the house.  As I drove up onto the sidewalk, I saw our neighbor and two of her kids walking down the sidewalk towards me.  They looked and kinda smiled, probably amused by the sight of an old guy like me riding a big wheel...  especially since I was on my belly and steering with my face.  After I went past, they yelled to me that they were disappointed that I never updated my webcam page anymore.  I didn't realize that they knew about that page, so I told them that I would turn it on as soon as I got back home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went back into the house and went up into my attic, where I had an elaborate webcam and computer system set up.  I grabbed my phone and called the neighbors to let them know that everything was turned back on again.  I also told them that sometimes I aim my cam out the windows and it catches some of their yard in the field of view, and all they had to do was let me know if they ever wanted me to turn it in another direction.  As I was talking to them, I heard a knock on the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The neighbor girl on the phone said "did you hear that?" because she could see the person knocking on our front door from her window.  I looked out the window and saw that it was a Brinks security van.  I went downstairs and let the guy in.  Dad had called him for some reason, and he was there to inspect the house for potential fire hazards.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-112025273954930132?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112025273954930132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/112025273954930132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/07/big-wheel.html' title='Big Wheel'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111957197788454117</id><published>2005-06-23T20:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-23T20:12:57.890-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead Junkies</title><content type='html'>My cousin and I were working as police officers, and we were supposed to be patrolling an old mall at night.  Much of the mall was abandoned, with only a few stores still left.  We entered the mall and saw lots of trash, empty stores, empty boxes...  a general mess.  As we were walking, we saw an old man walking out of of one of the rooms at the far end of the mall.  He saw us and ran back into the store he came from, so we chased after him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We chased him into a store at the far end of the mall, where we discovered that him and a friend were camping out and smoking crack.  I grabbed one of the old guys by the shoulder and he turned around and aimed a gun at my head.  I just grabbed the gun and wrestled it away from him.  I told him that I didn't care if he wanted to shoot at me - it wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.  He gave up after that and let my cousin lead him away.  The second guy wasn't as cooperative.  He saw his friend being handcuffed and taken away, so he decided to turn his gun on himself - and he shot himself in the head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The detective that came to clean up the scene made it look as good as new, and behind the register on the floor he left a personal check for $150 to make up for the missing money that the old guys had stolen before we had gotten there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111957197788454117?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111957197788454117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111957197788454117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/06/dead-junkies.html' title='Dead Junkies'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111756016368609379</id><published>2005-05-31T13:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-05-31T13:22:43.690-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lancaster NASCAR Race</title><content type='html'>I showed up at the Fairfield County Fairgrounds to participate in a late night NASCAR Nextel cup race.  I hadn't driven in the series before, so I was nervous about getting out on the track and at least staying out of everyone's way.  I arrived late, so cars were already practicing on the track before I had even gotten in my car.  When I did, I noticed that Bobby Labonte was sitting in the back seat.  He was already suited up and had his helmet on, so I just put on my helmet and my little radio headset for communications.  I keyed the mic and asked if Bobby could hear me, but my crew chief said that he couldn't.  Apparently he wasn't there to help me really...  he was just along for the ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made our way onto the track, but I went out going the wrong direction.  Bobby seemed to have at least partial control of the car, because I told him that I made a mistake and that maybe he should turn the car around so we could head the other direction and get some practice laps in before the race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, the cars are gone and the stands are empty.  I'm no longer in my car, but instead I'm walking around the empty track, picking up trash.  It was dark, since it was the middle of the night, so it was a little bit creepy.  There were a few other people working in the area, and I was watching them to see if they were watching me.  It turns out that I wasn't really working for the cleanup crew, and that I was just picking up trash because I was trying to find good stuff that people lost earlier in the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In turn three I started finding the good stuff.  People had left lots of CDs laying around on the ground and in the stands.  I found a Billy Joel boxed set, a few Genesis CDs, as well as a Huey Lewis and The News collectors set.  I gathered them up quickly, and acted as if I was going to turn them in to someone - just in case anyone was watching me - but I knew that I was really going to take my new-found booty home with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111756016368609379?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111756016368609379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111756016368609379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/05/lancaster-nascar-race.html' title='Lancaster NASCAR Race'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111737710091165351</id><published>2005-05-29T10:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-05-29T10:31:40.916-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bauman Hill Battle</title><content type='html'>I was hiding in some trees near the edge of the woods on the property that my family used to own on Bauman Hill.  I was next to some military folks that were shooting downrange from us, apparently at an army that was advancing towards our position.  Before I knew it, the people next to me were gone - leaving me hiding in the trees by myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the other army approached, I could see that they were members of the Union army, as they were all wearing blue coats.  I wasn't sure if they were coming to get me or not, so I did a quick turn and ran in the other direction before they were close enough to see me.  I made it down to where the path begins that leads back to the cliff in the woods, and began running down towards it to take cover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I reached where the cliff would normally be, I found that a group of Amish people had actually built a little village down there, with their buildings and homes constructed out of the natural rock faces that were already there.  They looked at me as I entered the area, but they didn't seem too concerned - so I just acted like I belonged there.  Shortly after I arrived, they noticed the Union army coming down the path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I still think they were looking for me, they were also coming to this village in order to get something to eat.  I hid behind a corner while they went by me and filed into a big dining area.  Several of the Amish people were watching me, and I believe they knew that I was hiding from the army, but they didn't rat me out.  After all of the Union army had made it into the building, I snuck out and headed as fast as I could back up the trail and out to where my friends were now waiting for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jason Figgins and Nathan Carpenter were at the top of the trail, but they didn't have a vehicle with them.  They were joking about how they got so drunk the night before that they forgot where all of our cars were parked.  We walked down the road a ways and past a gas station, where we saw someone crash a Toyota MR2 into a big black truck.  We thought that they were going to fight, so we avoided the gas station and continued to an apartment complex.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(We were now in Lancaster, near Memorial Dr and Fair Ave)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;We walked through this group of apartments, and it looked as if nobody was living in any of them.  Jason was making a lot of noise, and I was still nervous that someone was going to find us and start shooting again, but it really did appear that nobody cared about us in that area.  There was one apartment that was actually three stories tall, with the walls made almost completely of glass.  Jason joked with me that he thought that it was abandoned, but once we got closer we could tell that someone was still living there.  I was disappointed.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111737710091165351?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111737710091165351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111737710091165351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/05/bauman-hill-battle.html' title='Bauman Hill Battle'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111660680858019811</id><published>2005-05-20T12:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-05-20T12:33:28.586-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Raining Aluminum Siding</title><content type='html'>I was walking through a parking lot of some shopping center, when the weather turned cloudy and grim.  I could see that the wind was picking up - and it began tossing debris around in the air, almost like a tornado.  In the distance I could see things being pulled into the air, and they were coming in my direction.  I kept watching these things flying through the air towards me, until suddenly one of the objects slammed into the pavement a few feet away from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that aluminum siding was being ripped off of a building somewhere, and now those pieces of siding were being carried through the air and then shot down towards the ground with extreme force.  The first piece came down and stuck in the pavement like an arrow shot out of a crossbow.  I immediately realized how dangerous this was, and I began running to get out of the parking lot and under cover.  The pieces started falling faster, shooting into the blacktop every few seconds.  I dove underneath one of the parked cars, but then I heard one of the pieces of siding hit another car - and it went straight through the metal and lodged itself into the pavement just like the other pieces.  I quickly scurried out from under the car and started running as fast as I could to get away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111660680858019811?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111660680858019811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111660680858019811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/05/raining-aluminum-siding.html' title='Raining Aluminum Siding'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111428380377455266</id><published>2005-04-23T15:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-04-23T15:16:43.776-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Late For School</title><content type='html'>Along some country road, I was waiting for the schoolbus to pick me up and take me to school.  The weather was overcast and cool, almost as if it had just quit raining.  The bus didn't look like it was going to show up, so I began to move down the road myself...  although instead of walking, I sort of crouched over and ran using my legs and my arms, kinda like a gorilla - but much faster.  I covered several hundred yards before I came upon a couple of old houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weeds had grown up around these houses, but one of them was still being used by someone as their home.  I made my way across his lawn, through the weeds and bushes, and then took a shortcut through the abandoned little home that was next door.  I was a little afraid to go all the way inside, because I felt like something was in there to get me - so I just kind of ran/jumped across the front porch, down into the storm cellar, and then back out into the field towards the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom picked me up, since the bus obviously wasn't coming, but we were headed in the wrong direction.  I looked down at the clock in the car and it said 8:40am - and I had to be at school by 9:00am.  I knew we weren't going to make it, and we were getting stuck at every red light in town.  I guess mom thought I had forgotten something and we had to go back to the house to get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I made it to school, I ended up getting dropped off at a big barn along the road that heads to Millersport.  It was suddenly night time, but I was still concerned with being late for school.  Since I didn't have any way to get there now, I decided to head in the barn and go up into the loft.  The loft had been converted into an old-time saloon.  There were old fixtures everywhere, and lots of old people drinking and chatting.  The only lights seemed to be coming from oil lamps hung around the room, so it was very dark.  The bartender/host was demonstrating his ghost-capturing machine to me, which was on display to the right of the bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You would stick your hand into this small wooden hole, which looked quite a bit like a guillotine, and pull on a lever.  He said something about the ghost "leaving the chamber" and travelling along the cable at 9.5 mph.  I looked up and saw that the cable was strewn about the room, going through various other wooden contraptions that were hanging from the ceiling.  I pulled the lever a few times...  dust flew from the device, but no ghosts seemed to be alarmed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I checked my watch again, and it was now 9:40pm.  I was still in somewhat of a hurry because I had to be at school by 10:00pm - but this time I just gave up and accepted that I wasn't going to make it today.  I was just hoping that I had enough "points" that I could miss a day without getting into trouble.  The bar was closing, so I stumbled over to where I put my shoes...  yeah, apparently everyone takes their shoes off in this barn...  a couple of old men commented that I was late for school, to which I replied that I knew and didn't care.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111428380377455266?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111428380377455266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111428380377455266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/04/late-for-school.html' title='Late For School'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111417384039409739</id><published>2005-04-22T08:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-04-22T08:44:00.396-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Apartment In Lancaster's Ghetto</title><content type='html'>Apparently Genesee and I were looking for our new apartment that we had just decided to rent.  I don't think we had been there before, because we were wandering around downtown Lancaster looking for it.  We found this old looking multi-story apartment building on one of the roads &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(which doesn't really exist in downtown Lancaster, but anyway...)&lt;/span&gt; and walked into the empty apartment on the ground floor.  We were happy that we found it, and were able to get off the streets - it was late at night, and we were scared that the bad element in the area would "get us" or something...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once inside we quickly shut and locked the door, then turned back around to peer out of the blinds to see if anyone was watching us move into our new home.  The whole area looked deserted, but we still closed all the blinds and made sure all of the doors were locked.  The apartment, inside, looked as if it had been frozen in time from the late 1960s.  All of the appliances were old fashioned, the walls were drab and faded, no decorations or carpets to be found, and nothing in any of the rooms had any color.  It was a completely uninspiring place to have to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made my way to the local thrift store, where I headed straight for the electronics section.  I was there to look for things to furnish our new apartment, but I quickly spotted something that said "COLECOVISION" in big block letters.  At first I thought I had found a nice looking old game system for $9.96, but when I looked closer - it turned out to be a very old laptop computer.  I was able to power it on, seeing that it had a whopping 10megs of memory.  I quickly closed it up and placed it in a big tupperware container.  I was pleased at the deal I was going to get, and I knew that it was worth a great deal more than what they were trying to sell it for.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Of course, a ColecoVision laptop computer doesn't exist either...  heh)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111417384039409739?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111417384039409739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111417384039409739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/04/apartment-in-lancasters-ghetto.html' title='Apartment In Lancaster&apos;s Ghetto'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111334862218248144</id><published>2005-04-12T19:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-04-12T19:30:22.183-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Security Check</title><content type='html'>I was working as a security guard in some store in an inner-city area, and I was responsible for keeping watch on the parking lot.  It was dark, raining, and generally crappy out, and none of the other guards were willing to go an patrol the lot - so I was the only one that went outside to do it.  I made my rounds of the lot, checking the cars, making sure nothing was going on...  and I found a few items in the lot while I was doing that.  I found a handheld radio that our stock workers are supposed to use, and I found a box that had a ring and a single earring inside of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stuck those items in my pocket and headed back towards the store.  When I got near the doors, I noticed that there were several sheriff deputies standing around, and I overheard that they were looking for me.  I was worried that they'd think I was trying to steal the radio and the jewelry, so I ducked inside of a car that was open.  I thought I was hidden, but my boss (Charlie) opened the passenger side and got in to question me.  He kept asking me where I had been, why I wasn't working, why I left the parking lot, and why I wouldn't tell him the truth.  I got out of the car and ran into the lobby of our store, and then into an old storage room that was off to the side of that room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the items that I had found in the parking lot and put them in a baggie, then stuffed them into a box that was sitting along the wall.  As I was getting ready to try to leave and get away, several people with guns came in and pulled me out.  They said that I was being arrested for playing XBOX Live with a stolen XBOX.  I tried to explain to them that that was impossible, because each XBOX has an account based on its serial number - but all of the cops were redneck hillbillies, and they didn't understand what I was talking about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111334862218248144?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111334862218248144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111334862218248144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/04/security-check.html' title='Security Check'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111250627535293715</id><published>2005-04-03T00:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-04-03T00:31:55.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Loose Lion</title><content type='html'>I was working in some random mall when a delivery arrived at the mall's entrance. The people delivering the packages apologized that they were late, but they wanted me to hurry and just sign for the package so they could be on their way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I signed for a large box, and as soon as I was done with my signature, it opened up and a big lion came running out. The delivery guys &lt;em&gt;(or anyone else, for that matter)&lt;/em&gt; weren't paying attention or even trying to stop this lion from getting out - and it ran through the doors and into the mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran into the mall, trying to catch this lion before it could hurt anyone. Surprisingly, nobody seemed concerned about this big lion walking around in the mall - so at least I didn't have to deal with people screaming and running around. I was able to get the lion into the nearby pet store, and once it was inside I began looking for the switches to drop the gate down in the front of the store. I couldn't find it myself, so I asked one of the cashiers behind the counter to do it - but she just stood there. To make her understand the need for speed in this matter, I picked up a baseball bat and smashed it on the counter in front of her - telling her that she needed to close the gate &lt;strong&gt;now&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This seemed to get her attention and she lowered the chain gate in front of the store, safely locking the lion away from the rest of the mall. Well, safely, except for all of the people that were shopping in the pet store at that time I guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111250627535293715?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111250627535293715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111250627535293715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/04/loose-lion.html' title='Loose Lion'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-111227997407291290</id><published>2005-03-31T09:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-31T09:42:31.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Haunted Mansion</title><content type='html'>I was walking with some friends on a dark, cloudy day.  We came upon an abandoned house &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(which is a pretty common theme in my dreams by now)&lt;/span&gt; and decided to explore. This house was once quite fancy, but it had begun to fall into disrepair from years of neglect. Somehow we actually entered the house through a big hole in the roof... I think we were able to get there from some large beams that stuck out from a nearby overpass bridge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we entered through the roof of this giant house, I found myself in a dark closet. I pretended that I was scared and that something had grabbed me, causing the people with me to freak out - until they realized I was joking. This lightened the mood for those that were scared, and one of the girls even decided that she would go into the dark house through this same method. However, her entry didn't go as planned. She jumped down into the closet, while I had just sort of hung down inside by my hands to look around, and she immediately crashed through the floor and down into the levels below. We were all scared for her, but were also scared to go down into the pitch black room that was below that closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of falling into darkness like our friend, we climbed down and entered the house through a door that was left open. There was enough light in this bottom level that we could get around, and finally found this big, creepy closet that was alive with evil energy. We could hear our friend screaming from inside, and one of my other friends quickly ran over towards the closet and stepped inside. Within a second, a giant fog filled the closet and the room, a horrible noise came from within the house, and then an unseen force grabbed him and pulled him into the darkness. The speed at which he was snatched away would have killed him, if nothing else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once our friend was pulled into the closet, the house began to rumble and fog began filling all the rooms. We could tell that the house was filled with anger, and we knew that we needed to leave. We started running for the door that would lead us back out into the open, but the whole time we could feel this darkness chasing us - getting closer and closer. We made it out into the front courtyard of this mansion, but the evil wasn't done. The fountains out front, which were not working when we entered... suddenly they were shooting water into the sky... bursting and splashing in a frantic manner... we kept running...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally made it to the edge of the property, and when we crossed the fence - the fountains stopped, the rumbling ended, the fog vanished, and the clouds gave way to sunlight. We lost our two friends, but once we left the property of this haunted mansion - it decided to let the rest of us go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-111227997407291290?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111227997407291290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/111227997407291290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/03/haunted-mansion.html' title='Haunted Mansion'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110866008638336018</id><published>2005-02-17T11:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-17T12:08:06.386-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Killer Frogwolf</title><content type='html'>I was having a picnic with some friends at my Grandma's house.  They had thrown a blanket down under a tree and were beginning to unpack the food when a frog started hopping towards us.  They noticed right away that this frog had lots of sharp teeth and appeared to be charging at us.  It jumped in the air and opened it's mouth and tried to bite on to my arm.  I moved quickly enough that it missed me, but it turned around right away and tried again.  I managed to keep swatting it away from me every time it jumped - knocking it down onto the ground each time.  I think this just made it more angry, though...  the attacks continued...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it was getting more and more mad, I decided to run into the garage to grab a baseball bat.   I went back out to where the frog was, and gave it a whack with the bat.  This just made the frog mad, and it began jumping wildly into the air.  It jumped high enough to hit the power lines a few times, and then it started to attack again.  It jumped at me again, but this time the baseball bat did the trick...  I cracked the frog in mid-air and sent it flying out into the yard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some little kid came into the yard and ran up to the lifeless frog and was getting ready to pick it up.  I warned him to be careful, but he told me that it was dead.  As I watched the kid get ready to pick it up, I saw the frog blink...  but before it could attack me or the kid, I started smashing it over and over with the baseball bat.  It had some sort of protective shell on it, so I wasn't doing much damage - but it was still enough to keep it from attacking for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ran back to the house after I had apparently killed it, but before we made it to the door - the frog was there again, although this time it had morphed into a small black werewolf type creature.  Just like when it was a frog, it still had those razor teeth and was trying to attack us.  Before I even had a chance to realize it was there - the wolf jumped at me and bit onto my arm.  I was lucky enough to be able to grab it's lower jaw before it could clamp down on my arm though.  I yelled to my cousin Casey to come over and help me pull this thing off of me, and since it didn't have a firm grip on my arm - he was able to pry the top of the thing's mouth off of my arm before it could do any real damage.  A few more whacks with the baseball bat and the creature was finally killed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110866008638336018?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110866008638336018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110866008638336018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/02/killer-frogwolf.html' title='Killer Frogwolf'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110851264333732097</id><published>2005-02-15T19:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-15T19:10:43.340-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying On The Boardwalk</title><content type='html'>I was in Atlantic City, spending some time on the boardwalk in the evening.  I was carrying a few boxes of cheap electronics novelties that I had apparently gotten at one of the gift shops earlier.  Generic brand radios, alarm clocks, musical keyboards, etc...  I tried to go into another shop near Caesar's but I was unable to make my way through the store - the aisles were too small for me and my boxes to fit through.  I went back out onto the boardwalk, where lots of people were walking around and sightseeing.  I went and sat in my large porch swing that was sitting on the boardwalk, and proceeded to try to get it off the ground - for whatever reason, my swing was able to almost fly.  Just like my other dreams, I was able to get a running start and get the swing to float off the ground, but I wasn't able to get it to fly very well.  People were looking at me, wondering what I was trying to do.  Instead of being impressed that I was able to make this swing fly for thirty or fourty feet at a time, they were laughing that I couldn't manage to stay airborn more than a few seconds.   Eventually I just stopped trying, since my shakey flights were almost making me hit people in the head with the bottom of my swing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110851264333732097?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110851264333732097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110851264333732097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/02/flying-on-boardwalk.html' title='Flying On The Boardwalk'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110790832534783635</id><published>2005-02-08T19:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-08T19:18:45.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>School Break-In</title><content type='html'>Jessica and I were camping out in a cave somewhere, it was the middle of the night, and we decided we were going to break in to the local high school.  There were guards outside, and in order for us to sneak out and get in to the school, we had to put out the campfire we had going, and light only some small torches that we were going to carry with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the big fire out, we made our way out of the cave and towards the school.  We met up with Jim and Amanda there, and as we entered the front door of the school - they decided they wanted to take the downstairs path, while Jessica and I decided to go to the upper floors.  It turns out that that was our mistake - because soon after that, we noticed the down the hallway there was a light on.  We heard a noise, but realized too late that there was a janitor in the building.  He was pushing a floor buffer, and spotted us as we tried to dive behind some lockers.  Once we knew we had been seen, we made a dash towards the stairs in an attempt to escape.  The janitor ran after us, and caught us as we were headed down the stairs.  I had jumped the edge and made it down to the floor below us - but Jessica was a little too slow, and he had grabbed her at the top of the stairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He yelled down to me that I wouldn't get in any trouble if I gave up, since it was my first offense - but that if he kept Jessica for the crime, that she'd go to jail for a long time since she had a previous record.  For whatever reason, I decided to be a nice guy and gave myself up so that she didn't have to go to jail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110790832534783635?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110790832534783635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110790832534783635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/02/school-break-in.html' title='School Break-In'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110660627073739448</id><published>2005-01-24T17:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-01-24T17:42:47.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Monkey Baby</title><content type='html'>I was over at Misty's mom's house, to see Mary's new baby... apparently I was spending the night there, along with my cousin. I woke up in the middle of the night and went out to check on the baby, who was sleeping in a chair in their living room - and I discovered that the baby was actually a monkey! Not only was it a monkey, but it had long black curly hair.  The odd thing was, nobody seemed to be concerned about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked him up and held him, and even though he's only a couple weeks old, he started standing up, doing tricks, jumping around, etc. I seemed to be the only one that was surprised that her baby was actually a monkey, so I didn't say anything to any of them. The monkey baby then jumped down out of my hands and stood up, combed its hair, then was picked up by one of the others. That person said "watch what he can do!" and then let the monkey baby hang upside-down from her arm, by his feet. I was worried that it was gonna fall and get hurt, but I guess since it was a monkey and not a baby, it was used to doing that sort of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110660627073739448?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110660627073739448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110660627073739448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/01/monkey-baby.html' title='Monkey Baby'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110635654749757611</id><published>2005-01-21T20:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-01-21T20:15:47.496-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rotten Neighbor Kids</title><content type='html'>It was the middle of the day, and I was working in the computer room.  As I was sitting at my desk, I heard some strange tapping outside one of the windows.  Through the blinds I could see some kids were messing around with the window, like they were trying to get in.  I didn't let them know that I was in there, and could see what they were doing, and shortly after that they went around to the window that was in the back of the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they were opening the window to try and come in, I quickly opened the blinds and made "oogah boogah" noises - scaring them all away.  They made it to the end of the yard, where the smaller ones tripped and fell as they tried to jump over the chain link fence.  Seeing them fall, I decided to jump out of the window and chase them down.  Before they could get up and across the fence, I grabbed one of them by his hair and kept him from getting away.  The other kids, who were apparently his brothers, stopped and gave up - since I already caught their slowers, stupid little brother - they knew they'd be in trouble as well anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made the kids tell me where they lived, and it was only a block or so away from my house.  So, I dragged this kid back to his house by his hair, and met his mom and dad on their front porch.  I tried to explain what happened, but the mom didn't seem to care - and the dad was some big redneck guy who was more concerned with the remodeling that was going on to the outside of his house, rather than what his rotten kids were up to.  I threw the kid down on the porch and headed back home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110635654749757611?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110635654749757611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110635654749757611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/01/rotten-neighbor-kids.html' title='Rotten Neighbor Kids'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110625783100625340</id><published>2005-01-20T16:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-01-20T17:05:12.666-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Haunted House</title><content type='html'>I had been reading about this great haunted house on the internet. People wrote about how you couldn't even make it to the third floor of this big abandoned building, because if you tried - whatever ghosts and demons that were in the house would attack you and throw you back down to the bottom levels. Apparently my girlfriend and I decided that we weren't afraid, and that we wanted to spend the night in this house. We went in the evening, packing only a sleeping bag, nightlight, and small radio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went in the house and made it up to the second floor. We plugged in our radio, put down the sleeping bag and tried to lay there and go to sleep. The building was completely dark except for the nightlight that we plugged in at the end of our extension cord, and it was very cold. Within a few minutes, the radio suddenly stopped working - leaving the house silent, other than the gusty wind noises from outside and the creaks and rattles from upstairs on the third floor. My girlfriend started getting scared, so I grabbed extension cord and pulled the nightlight closer to us. The glow only allowed us to see about three or four feet around us, leaving the rest of the house in darkness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided to get up and investigate the third floor, to figure out why the lights wouldn't come on and why our radio wouldn't work anymore. By now it was very late in the night, and as we came to the giant staircase that led to the third floor, we saw my dad coming down them. His eyes were open big, stuck in this creepy stair - as if he'd seen a ghost. (duh) We were getting ready to take a few steps up the stairs when he warned us that we shouldn't even be in the house, let alone trying to visit the third floor. We took a few steps up onto the stairs anyway, and the boards creeked and almost fell through - since they were rotton from exposure to the wind and rain through holes in the roof and the broken windows nearby. Before we could even make it half-way up the stairs, a wind came bursting out of the door at the top - knocking us on our backs at the bottom of the staircase. We immediately left the haunted house then... but even after we left, we felt like something had followed us... like the ghosts hadn't stayed in the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110625783100625340?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110625783100625340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110625783100625340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2005/01/another-haunted-house.html' title='Another Haunted House'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-110315687285712011</id><published>2004-12-15T19:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T19:27:52.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More Abandoned Buildings</title><content type='html'>I was riding my bike near General Sherman middle-school when I decided to take a shortcut through a wooded area to get to the other side of town.  I got through the trees and into a clearing where there was a big wall of sand surrounding this big abandoned electric plant.  It was several stories tall, made mostly of metal - with walkways all around the outside on all the levels.  I tried to make my way down the sand walls on my bike, but ended up getting stuck near the bottom.  Someone else was already there, also stuck in the sand, and she warned me that I shouldn't go in the building because it was being watched.  We could hear those people mumbling and getting closer as we were trying to get out of the sand, but we snuck around and got away right before those people showed up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-110315687285712011?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110315687285712011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/110315687285712011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/12/more-abandoned-buildings.html' title='More Abandoned Buildings'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109840236355202467</id><published>2004-10-21T19:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-21T19:57:24.396-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Haunted House</title><content type='html'>Me and one of my friends from work were standing around in a big waiting area, somewhat like a bus station or train station. I had on a long tan coat, and underneath I was hiding my long black coat - which contained a tape recorder, my wallet, and some other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A policeman came into the area, and began searching people and asking questions about someone that had been shot. I think I might have been hiding the gun as well, because we slowly started to walk away from where we were standing, and I casually dropped the black coat on the floor as we left. Nobody noticed, and we got away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were walking, I noticed that Misty was getting cold. It actually might have been her coat that I was hiding earlier, so I took off mine and gave it to her to wear. I have the ability to block out cold for short periods of time, so this didn't bother me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made our way to a haunted house attraction that we'd been wanting to visit. It was $25 dollars to get in, but we paid... hoping that it'd be worth the money. It was made from an old barn, but it had been made up inside to really look like a house. We were the only ones there, that made it a little more creepy. Once we got inside though, it turned out to be really amateur. The rooms were small, and every now and then some little kid would jump out of a hole in the wall and try to scare us. It was pretty lame, except near the end where they had some special effects that made it look like there were giant dogs in the next room. You'd look through the keyholes and mail slot on this big door, and you'd see a giant dog in the next room - thanks to some little video displays on the other side of the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109840236355202467?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109840236355202467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109840236355202467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/10/haunted-house.html' title='Haunted House'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109664720376246888</id><published>2004-10-01T13:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-01T12:13:23.763-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Late For Work, Sneaking In The Fancy House</title><content type='html'>I was sitting on the front porch, waiting for the mailman to arrive.  This was an enclosed porch, and if I looked up at the ceiling I was able to see through a vent in the floor to the upstairs bedroom.  I remarked to Genesee that I wanted to put a couch on the porch, so I could drop Kitty down through the vent and give him a little "ride" down to the couch below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mailman came and dropped off a package that I had been waiting for.  It was a GBA multi-cart, as well as a modified GBA SP and magnifying screen.  When I opened it, I was upset because I thought it was supposed to come with a webcam (?) but then I realized that I had actually ordered that from someone else.  Shortly after this I began to get ready for work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I made my way down the road, I realized that I had forgotten to wear my uniform - I was wearing my normal street clothes.  I was already running a little bit late, so I was pissed that I had to turn around and head back to the house.  When I got back to the house, I ran into Jackie and Misty outside - and they wondered why I was in such a hurry.  I told them that I had to change for work, but then I realized that if &lt;em&gt;they&lt;/em&gt; weren't at work...  oh...  the day was Saturday, and I wasn't even supposed to be going to work anyway.  Doh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite these facts, there were a couple of great big boxes sitting outside my house...  ones that we normally use at work then throw away.  I guess I had to throw these away as well, since they were sitting on my lawn, so I started dragging them down the street to find a place to put them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came upon this big fancy house, sitting unoccupied in the middle of a neighborhood of other fancy houses.  I headed up the driveway and began to cut the boxes and fold them over so I could stuff them into the trashcans outside this house.  Nobody was living there, I could see that there was no furniture inside, so I decided to take my cut down boxes inside the house to throw them away.  I looked all around the house, going from room to room, before leaving to head back to my own house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was walking back down the driveway to leave, mom and dad showed up.  I commented to dad that whoever lived there was paying $21,000/mo rent, and that they were crazy.  I said to be very quiet as we left, because we weren't supposed to even be there.  Mom heard me mention the rent amount, however, and shouted out loud that $21k was crazy.  One of the neighbors heard this and came over to check on the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said she was a relative of the people that lived there, and that they hadn't actually moved out - but instead they were on their honeymoon somewhere.  We acted like we were interested in buying the house, and asked if it was available to be shown by appointment.  The woman just looked at us suspiciously, so we continued slowly towards our cars.  The woman then shouted down to us, asking if we were the team of videographers that were supposed to be recording the events on the back lawn...  we just ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109664720376246888?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109664720376246888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109664720376246888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/10/late-for-work-sneaking-in-fancy-house.html' title='Late For Work, Sneaking In The Fancy House'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109578425380209504</id><published>2004-09-21T13:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-04-28T08:14:09.583-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Burning Biscuit Clown Attack</title><content type='html'>I was standing on the porch of our old house on Hubert Ave. I could hear the phone ringing in one of the nearby houses, and I also noticed the smell of smoke in the air. I walked over to the house where the phone was ringing, and I saw that on the front porch there was an unattended grill, cooking biscuits that were burnt and almost ready to catch fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I banged on the screen door of the porch, but nobody would answer. The phone continued to ring, so I assumed that either nobody was home - or someone was inside hurt. I went ahead and opened the screen door and went onto the porch to turn off the grill and pour water on the biscuits. Just as I did that, a big fat man came lumbering out of the house and onto the porch... yelling at me about breaking into his house. I hurried back outside, trying to explain how I had only gone into his porch in order to keep his house from catching fire - but he wasn't interested in hearing that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying to hurry back to our house, and as I looked back at the fat man's house, I saw an evil clown looking out of the bedroow window at me. It was yelling and chanting something... but I wasn't able to tell what, since I was hurrying to get away. I made it to our back steps, but I could hear that the clown had come out of the fat man's house and was making his way over to ours. It was yelling and chanting the whole way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It cornered me at the top of the stairs near the back door, and despite my knocking to get in - nobody would unlock it for me. The clown started to come up the stairs to get me, but luckily I was able to keep kicking it in the face every time that it got high enough that its head was level with my foot. I did this repeatedly until its whole face &lt;em&gt;(I'm talking the &lt;strong&gt;actual face&lt;/strong&gt;, not just the clown makeup)&lt;/em&gt; finally got smeared away by the continued kicking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109578425380209504?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109578425380209504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109578425380209504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/09/burning-biscuit-clown-attack.html' title='Burning Biscuit Clown Attack'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109442827250093143</id><published>2004-09-05T19:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-05T19:51:12.500-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying Saucer Reunion</title><content type='html'>I was at some sort of reunion event for the television show "Married with Children."  It was being held somewhere in the country, but close to a small shopping mall.  There were lots of people out on a large lawn, everyone sharing their stories about the show.  I was talking to the woman that played Marcy, and we were complaining about how Christina Applegate was "too good to come" to the event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were talking, a large UFO flew above us, very low to the ground.  At first we thought it was just a stunt that the event coordinators were doing, but then I realized that it was indeed a real flying saucer.  The sun was beginning to set, so it was getting a little dark, but I jumped in my car and followed this UFO to the strip mall next door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hopped out and quickly grabbed my digital camera.  The autofocus wasn't working well, because I was hurrying to take the pictures - and the UFO was pretty far away and it was dark out.  I managed to snap maybe a dozen pictures before the spaceship started to fly away.  As I was taking pictures, I noticed two women that were aiming some sort of blue light device at me.  It turns out that these women were working for the aliens, and their device was erasing my digital camera every time they shot the device at me.  Once I realized this, I began chasing &lt;em&gt;them&lt;/em&gt; into a store - taking pictures the whole way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I followed them into the entryway of this store, I realized that the UFO &lt;em&gt;( which was now barely the size of a frisbee )&lt;/em&gt; had also come into the enclosed area.  I quickly slammed the doors shut on the store, effectively locking this "UFO" in the entry area.  Sadly, I then noticed that the "UFO" was nothing more than a paper plate with a large flying bug underneath of it.  The real UFO had used this as a tactic to distract me, and it had flown away without me getting a single picture of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109442827250093143?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109442827250093143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109442827250093143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/09/flying-saucer-reunion.html' title='Flying Saucer Reunion'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109348053626115880</id><published>2004-08-25T20:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-25T20:35:36.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Fireboy</title><content type='html'>It was nighttime, and I was sitting on the open porch of my old house on Bauman Hill Rd.  It had been converted into some sort of house / gas station / convenience store hybrid - and there was a man driving a convertible limo parked out front, getting something to eat, while leaving his kids in the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of his younger sons, sitting in the back seat, filled a mug up with gasoline and started drinking it.  He said he wanted to set himself on fire, so not only was he drinking the gas but he was also pouring it on himself.  His dad started to walk out of the store, and so his son wouldn't catch fire before he got back to the car, I got out a fire house and started spraying the kid &lt;em&gt;(and the car)&lt;/em&gt; down with water.&lt;em&gt;  &lt;/em&gt;I put enough water on him that he wouldn't be able to light himself, but he had still sucked down all the gas from his mug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy driving the limo freaked out that his son was doing something so weird, so he peeled out of the gas station and headed back towards Lancaster.  Before he could even go over the hill in front of the house, I saw his car burst into flames.  Somehow, the front seat also got gasoline on it and one of his other kids had started it on fire.  The limo fishtailed and spun around in the road, changing directions, now heading away from Lancaster.  Again, before he could leave my sight, the limo driver grabbed the kid who drank all the gas and threw him out of the car as he was driving away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid was obviously sick and dazed, and when he hit the ground he just rolled to the edge of the road and laid there.  I remember thinking to myself that I should probably call the cops or something, but I just sat there on the porch - watching to see what would happen next.  One car drove by and apparently didn't even see the kid, whizzing right past him.  The next vehicle that came by was a big truck, and it had to swerve off the road to avoid hitting the boy because he'd woken up and was stumbling and dragging himself into the middle of the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I realized the boy wasn't going to die, I ran inside, fearing that I'd be in trouble now because I owned the gas station where he drank all the gas in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109348053626115880?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109348053626115880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109348053626115880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/08/fireboy.html' title='Fireboy'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109329468578313185</id><published>2004-08-23T16:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-23T16:58:05.783-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Beating Of Kutcher</title><content type='html'>I was staying the night at my cousin's house, and woke up in the early morning to discover to strange people sleeping in one of the rooms.  I woke Jim to ask him who these people were, but before he could answer - those two folks woke up and came into the room with guns drawn.  Apparently they had taken us hostage during the night, despite everyone (including the hostage takers) being asleep in different rooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the persons that took us hostage was Ashton Kutcher.  He stayed in the same room as me and Genesee, and was playing videogames and messing around with other stuff in the room.  I started talking to him a little, slowly gaining his trust, and when he wasn't paying attention - I grabbed the gun from the holster on his belt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I aimed it at him and told him not to move, and told Genesee to run out of the house and get far away from there.  Ashton didn't seem too concerned though, which made me realize that the gun wasn't even loaded.  He started to walk towards me, as if to try to take the gun back away from me - so I bashed him in the head with the butt of the gun.  The first blow didn't have much effect, so I kept beating him over the head with the gun until he fell down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I knocked him out, I drug him outside and continued beating up on him.  I was doing various wrestling type moves on him...  back breakers, DDTs, pile drivers...  eventually leaving him in a broken pile on the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109329468578313185?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109329468578313185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109329468578313185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/08/beating-of-kutcher.html' title='The Beating Of Kutcher'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109316334670969744</id><published>2004-08-22T04:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-22T04:29:06.710-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost At The Mall</title><content type='html'>I was having dinner with some friends at a mall, sitting in the food court, when one of them offered me some fried chicken.  Not particularly caring for fried chicken, I only took some of the crunchy skin and ate it.  Shortly after this, I heard a voice above me ask "would you like some more chicken?"  I replied that I didn't, thinking that there was a waitress behind me or something - but then I realized the voice came from one of the speakers that were hanging above our heads.  It turns out that all of these speakers hanging from the ceiling, normally playing mall music...  they all had microphones in them.  Any conversations that people were having at their tables were being heard by "someone" in the mall offices.  This creeped me out, so I grabbed my bag &lt;em&gt;(which contained flavored water, and two jugs of milk that had been sitting out for a day)&lt;/em&gt; and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into the parking lot to look for my car, but I had forgotten where I parked.  I was wandering around for a few minutes before I came across a bunch of kids playing football.  It was dark now, so they really couldn't see what they were doing - and one kid through the ball way past his buddy and it landed near me.  My hands were full, but I put down my stuff and tossed the ball back to them.  They did that same thing one more time, but this time one of their friends came to get the ball - and in the process, he dropped a FRS radio that he was carrying.  I picked it up, cuz I was gonna keep it, but as I was getting ready to walk away someone called his name on it - so he heard, and I had to give it back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cut through some trees and began looking for my car again, only to have someone else stop me.  A few rows away, there was a big SUV sitting with one of it's doors open, a girl inside yelling "Hey Bob!  Hey Bob!"  &lt;em&gt;(This is weird too, mostly because nobody calls me "Bob" anymore.)  &lt;/em&gt;I walked over and saw that it was Pam, one of my good friends from back in high school.  I was surprised to see her, so I asked what she was doing in the area.  She was riding around in this big SUV full of hippie looking people, but she wasn't dressed like one of them.  I got in the truck with her and we started talking...  she told me about how she isn't married anymore, because her husband died a few months earlier.  The dream just ended there...  lame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109316334670969744?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109316334670969744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109316334670969744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/08/lost-at-mall.html' title='Lost At The Mall'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-109270067995504753</id><published>2004-08-16T19:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-16T19:59:44.093-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying Through Africa</title><content type='html'>I started out inside someone's house, along with Genesee, almost as if we had broken into the place and were trying to wire it up for surveillance or something. I had crawled up into the attic and was hiding there, while also trying to figure out an alternate method of getting down. I found another hole in the attic floor, which was just barely big enough for me to squeeze down through. I scraped the pink insulation away from the hole, and shimmied down into one of the rooms of the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortly after that, I escaped from the house by "flying" out of one of the top windows. While I initially thought I was flying, it turned out that there was a long cable attached to the top of the house - and it was connected to a tree that was some distance away. This let me jump out the window and zoom down to the ground without hurting myself. Once I was on the ground, I saw Ibra sitting in his car. It turns out I was actually in Africa, and he was going to lead the way to a place where I'd be safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took off down the road, and I continued "flying" on this cable contraption. As he drove quickly through the streets, I realized that I was in his home country, and that if he didn't slow down I would get lost - because I couldn't keep up. The roads were very similar to the roads here in Lancaster. The same general direction I'd take to get to Rising Park here, also took me to a big park there in Africa. As I hovered along the sidewalks, people walking along with me were amazed that I was floating above the ground as I moved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow after that, I ended up in Atlantic City. But this time we actually arrived via the water. We drove in to this big docking area on the boardwalk, where everyone arriving was pulling up in this little bitty power boats - barely big enough to sit in. I walked around the food court inside the docks, but then when I was ready to leave - I couldn't find the little boat that I arrived in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-109270067995504753?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109270067995504753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/109270067995504753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/08/flying-through-africa.html' title='Flying Through Africa'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108932183999452655</id><published>2004-07-08T17:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-08T17:27:18.766-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying Worker</title><content type='html'>I was working in a large retail warehouse, but it was with almost all of the people I currently work with.  (Which is not in a warehouse, fwiw.)  It seemed as if we were getting ready to open an outlet-type store there in the warehouse, so all of us were in a hurry to get things ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim, Misty, and Chad were all working on several skids of sunglasses.  Some of them were still packed in cases, but many of them were just in piles and stacks on top of the boxes.  Misty was sorting out the "good" sunglasses from the bad ones, and Chad was running them from the piles, over to the shelves where they would be on display.  While they were doing that, Kim started going through a bunch of boxes of clothing that needed sorted and put onto trucks to ship to our other stores.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seemed to just be moving around the areas, checking on everyone's progress - but then I began to help.  I was helping by floating up to the top of the warehouse, grabbing things off of the very high shelves and bringing them down to the floor.  We evidently didn't have a forklift to get things down, so I would just concentrate really hard and then I'd float up, grab some stuff, then float back down.  It wasn't even really flying.  It was just vertical motion, but still fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Misty and Kim watched me do this a couple times and they thought it was some sort of a trick.  Kim said that I must be attached to some sort of wire or something, and she began looking around the area for something that could be causing me to float like that.  She went near the edge of the room and started pulling at some chains that were hanging from the ceiling.  She pulled one of them and it caused the outside wall to start to open up...  almost like big doors for an airplane hanger would slide open.  This freaked her out, and she quickly pulled it again to shut the door, because all of the clothes she had been sorting were falling out of the warehouse and onto the ground outside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108932183999452655?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108932183999452655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108932183999452655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/07/flying-worker.html' title='Flying Worker'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108834224769353337</id><published>2004-06-27T09:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-27T09:17:27.693-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Photo House</title><content type='html'>I was walking down Lake Rd, just outside of Millersport Ohio, looking for a place where I could stay.  &lt;em&gt;(Apparently I was homeless...  *shrug*)&lt;/em&gt;  I had just passed the home of one of my old friends from school, when I came upon a somewhat empty old house sitting on the edge of their property.  I looked in the windows and saw that it wasn't completely abandoned, because it still had some appliances and furniture inside - but it hadn't been used in many months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went inside and began looking through some of the drawers in a large table that was located near the front of the house.  It seemed as if this house was once used as a stopping area for people travelling on Lake Rd.  Almost like a rest area or toll stop, there was even a small parking area outside where cars could pull in and stop if they wanted to.  As I was saying, in the drawers of this table I found a bunch of photographs.  Some of them were older, but some of them looked like they were taken quite recently.  A few of them even featured people I know...  April, Toni, Wendi, etc.  It looked as if they may have been prints made from some sort of attraction or kiosk where you could have your picture taken while on your journey.  I even recognized some of the pictures as ones that I had taken, but here they had been changed slightly - enough to make them look different from the originals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108834224769353337?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108834224769353337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108834224769353337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/photo-house.html' title='Photo House'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108785773234197460</id><published>2004-06-21T18:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-21T18:42:12.343-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Michigan Stonehenge</title><content type='html'>I was attending the re-opening of the "Stonehenge" rock formations, after it had been closed for a year due to renovations.  Apparently I was there for more than just a visit, though, as I was sitting on top of one of the rocks - smashing it with a big stone in order to crack it.  I had split one of the big rock displays nearly in two before I hopped down from the top and began to walk around with a small tour group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all walked by the big stone that I had cracked, but nobody said anything about it, and I was a bit disappointed.  Our tour continued away from the Stonehenge formation and into a foggy field that was full of skulls and human bones.  &lt;em&gt;(It was getting dark now, and the field was thick with fog - making it hard to see more than ten or twenty feet in front of us.)&lt;/em&gt;  We made our way across the field, stepping on and crunching the human bones, until we made it to an abandoned cement building.  Our guide told us that we were crossing into Michigan now, and most of them had made their way into the building before I became stuck on some of the bones we were walking on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a good deal of water on the ground, and I had accidently stepped on a partially submerged skeleton and had gotten my pantleg caught on one of the rib bones.  Someone grabbed my hand and helped pull me off of the bones and into the building.  We entered through a basement door, and once inside we had to cross the basement (which was chest high in water and decayed bodies) in order to get to another floor.  I commented to another person in the tour about how disgusting it was, being in that water, since it appeared that dozens of bodies had decayed in it - almost making a "soup" of stinky death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it through the flooded basement and up into one of the other rooms, when it was now only me and one other person taking the tour.  As we rounded a corner, we saw two human heads &lt;em&gt;(one male, one female)&lt;/em&gt; floating in the distance, arguing with each other.  They were slightly transparent, as if ghosts - but with no bodies.  I began shouting at the floating heads, and they heard me and approached us through a narrow hallway connecting the rooms that we were in.  The heads floated right up to us, and despite them still arguing with each other and looking at us ocassionally, it seemed as if they were in another "realm" and didn't really notice that we were there.  Despite my best efforts to talk to them, they remained unaware of our presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We moved on, and upstairs into one of the top floors of the abandoned house - where we ran into Heather, one of my wife's friends.  She opened the door to what looked like a laundry chute, in order to let us out of the house.  We slide through the door and down some stairs into a kitchen.  We had now left the abandoned house, and were in a house where people were milling about, preparing for a wedding.  We left without anyone paying us much attention at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108785773234197460?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108785773234197460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108785773234197460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/michigan-stonehenge.html' title='Michigan Stonehenge'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108767261354312852</id><published>2004-06-19T15:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-19T15:19:20.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorta Superman</title><content type='html'>Apparently I had just gone through some sort of process that gave me back my "superman powers" and I was headed to the local airport terminal to stop General Zod and his buddies.  I got to the airport and found them waiting outside, along with Misty and Genesee waiting inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I walked up to Zod, and the building, I tested out my new powers by punching the wall.  It was made of thick panes of glass, which shattered easily when I hit them.  They didn't break into sharp pieces though...  more like those little bits of plastic used in a Lite Brite.  This had me so fascinated, I just forgot about the bad guys and started punching all of the walls and windows.  Misty was behind another set of thick glass wall, and I punched through it and grabbed her - and pulled her back through the glass to "rescue her" from her little holding cell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I started to just play around, since I was still amazed that I could do all of what I was doing without getting hurt.  I found a big window that I could run and jump through, doing a barrel-roll as I broke through it.  The other people in the airport were wondering what I was doing, and Genesee actually yelled at me because a little baby was watching me - and she thought that it might try to do the same thing I was doing, jumping through plate glass windows.  Right after that, Genesee went over to the food stand an ordered herself an italian sub...  but before I could tell her what I wanted, a long line formed so I just went outside into the food court by myself and waited for her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108767261354312852?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108767261354312852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108767261354312852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/sorta-superman.html' title='Sorta Superman'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108699523785527297</id><published>2004-06-11T18:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-11T19:07:17.860-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Club Hills</title><content type='html'>Ibra and I were hired as doormen for a local club that was opening.  It was actually located in the lobby of the Hills store, which was in the River Valley Mall.  It wasn't actually it's own place, either...  the club was only open after the store had closed each night.  We stood outside, sorting and handing out flyers to let everyone know about the club.  Ibra was only giving invitations to certain people, while I was just giving them to anyone that passed by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went inside a little early, in order to get the place ready for the night, and Tabatha was there to help us out.  Two of the pop machines were flipped over onto their tops, and we were working with those, trying to get them fixed in time for the opening.  Tabatha was only trying to get pop out of them though, not really helping to fix them.  I saw my cousin Jim, standing in line to checkout from the store, and he ended up helping us repair the pop machines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the doors opened, about a dozen people came in - most of them guys.  They all rushed to get seats around the lobby, which was now serving as the dance floor.  Apparently none of those people came to dance, but instead to watch the women that would be there dancing.  Nothing was going on up front, so Ibra and I went to the back of the store to work on some other stuff, where I ran into Dennis's wife.  She was working on stocking some shelves, and she was telling me how Dennis had already quit his new job and was now just sitting at home all day and night.  She knew I was headed back to the games department, so she was giving me some trivia questions to include in one of the games that Hill's was selling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made it back to the games, and I found Johnny Benson sitting on the floor - writing out Nascar trivia questions for that same game.  He remarked how none of the questions that Dennis's wife gave me were any good, and that he was the only one that would know good Nascar questions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108699523785527297?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108699523785527297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108699523785527297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/club-hills.html' title='Club Hills'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108630961137023905</id><published>2004-06-03T20:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-03T20:40:11.370-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Squishy Slug Death</title><content type='html'>I was in my basement, where me and someone else were hiding from some evil things that were lurking around upstairs.  I remarked how it felt like a videogame I had played once before, where you had to start off in the basement and kill these giant slug-like things that would come down and try to kill you.  Well, as soon as I said that, the slugs actually started coming the stairs.  I did what I would have done in the videogame, grabbing a big board and started smacking at the slugs.  I hit the first one and it instantly died, popping open and then shrivling away.  However, when I hit the second one with the board - it didn't die.  It split into two sections, each of which continued to grow into an even bigger slug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend and I kept trying to hit the slugs, but it wasn't working anymore...  so we had to think of something else.  I grabbed one with my bare hands and started smashing it against the floor.  Each time it hit the floor it would shrink a little in size, with good and pieces flying off...  almost like nasty black jello or pudding.  I killed one slug that way, but by time I had done that - the other had grown to almost the size of a chair.  Luckily, my friend (I'm still not sure who it was) figured out that if you got water on them, they'd shrivel up and die.  We forced the last big slug into a big trash bag and then drug it over under the water spout and filled the bag with water - and watched the last slug melt away into a big sloppy bag of water and black smelly goo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108630961137023905?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108630961137023905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108630961137023905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/squishy-slug-death.html' title='Squishy Slug Death'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108630926965479142</id><published>2004-06-03T20:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-03T20:34:29.653-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Back At The Old Store</title><content type='html'>Armond had opened up another discount store, and rehired all of his old employees (including me) to run it again.  The store was brand new, but it was laid out almost exactly like his original store was many years ago.  All of us employees hadn't seen each other for several years, so everyone looked a little bit different - but still kinda the same.  I was taking a break before the store opened, drinking some sort of smoothy drink that we were selling for a dollar, and I was thinking to myself (in the dream) that this was too weird and that I must be dreaming.  However, I convinced myself that I wasn't dreaming, and in fact I really did go back to work for Armond in one of his stores.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108630926965479142?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108630926965479142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108630926965479142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/06/back-at-old-store.html' title='Back At The Old Store'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108601243108707439</id><published>2004-05-31T10:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-31T10:07:36.323-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Craft Store Candy Bars</title><content type='html'>I was shopping in some sort of arts and crafts store, where they would let you try out the items before you bought them.  I was actually painting a picture frame, and adding some gold flakes to it when I heard some people laughing at me from up towards the cash register.  Apparently the store was closing and I wasn't going to be able to complete my picture frame in time, and they thought this was funny.  I went to the cash register in order to pay and leave, and noticed that it was Dan (a guy from work) and one of his friends that were laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at the bag of items that they had just purchased, and it was full of candy bars - some wrapped, some opened.  I made some sort of comment about how a fatty like him didn't need to be buying any more candy, which sufficiently hurt his feelings, and then I left.  He wasn't laughing any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(fwiw, Dan isn't really a fatty...  but he does have a bigger gut than me.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108601243108707439?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108601243108707439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108601243108707439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/craft-store-candy-bars.html' title='Craft Store Candy Bars'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108543558118029845</id><published>2004-05-24T17:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-24T17:53:47.526-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Eating The Cat Head</title><content type='html'>My wife and I were eating our cat's head.  Bizarre... I know.  But anyway, Kitty was not in pain - and we weren't actually hurting him.  At least, &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; wasn't hurting him.  I was only eating pieces of skin from the top of his head, while Genesee insisted on digging in and really getting some big chunks of meat.  I kept telling her just to eat little bits, so it didn't hurt him - but she kept digging away.  Why were we eating our cat?  I have no idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108543558118029845?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108543558118029845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108543558118029845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/eating-cat-head.html' title='Eating The Cat Head'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108543531850927611</id><published>2004-05-24T17:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-24T17:50:11.186-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tour Bus Plane Crash</title><content type='html'>It was early evening, and I was the driver of a tour bus that was on it's way home from a gambling trip at Atlantic City.  I was driving along the freeway, but apparently took a wrong exit - because I ended up driving along regular city streets.  Before I could find a place to get back onto the freeway, I had driven into the "ghetto" part of town.  The roads were narrow, there was no place for me to stop or turn around, and there were many "undesirable" folks wandering the streets, looking for trouble.  I didn't want to stop the bus and take a chance that someone would try to rob my passengers, so I kept making turns until I ended up driving down a road full of apartment buildings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By now it was the middle of the night, and almost everyone was sleeping, so I felt safe in stopping the bus and asking for directions.  I knocked on the apartment door of an older lady, and she told me that I just needed to go a few streets over and I'd find an exit that led to the freeway.  But for whatever reason, I didn't go directly back to the bus and onto the freeway...  instead, I went inside the apartment and was looking out the window at the planes that would fly over.  The apartment that I was in was located directly at the end of an airport runway, and so when the planes would take off and land they would nearly hit the building they were so low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was watching a small bi-plane take off, I noticed that it was even lower than the other planes, and that the engine didn't sound right.  I grabbed my digital camera and headed for the door, because I knew it was going to crash.  As I went outside, where it was dark and snowy, I could see an orange glow coming from a few hundred yards away.  Me and a few other folks went to investigate and found that the plane had crashed into a building that was housing a show car, Tony Stewart's Home Depot #20 NASCAR Chevy to be exact.  The plane had crashed through the top of the roof, directly down onto Tony's car, smashing it almost flat.  As onlookers started to gather, I was the only one with a camera, so I took as many pictures as I could.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108543531850927611?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108543531850927611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108543531850927611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/tour-bus-plane-crash.html' title='Tour Bus Plane Crash'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108533064513849096</id><published>2004-05-23T12:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-23T12:44:05.136-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Abandoned Tower</title><content type='html'>Some friends and I came across a giant abandoned apartment building, so we decided to explore it.  We found that we couldn't get in through the normal doors or windows, so we had to have a crane lift us up to the very top floor so that we could sneak in through one of the open windows up there.  We got in and found the place to be a complete mess...  furniture and personal belongs thrown everywhere, and everything was covered in a thick chemical dust - apparently to kill whatever virus or germs that had made the building unusable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being an abandoned building, I started going through some of the stuff in one of the rooms - seeing if there was anything there that I wanted to take.  My friend that was with me told me that maybe I shouldn't do that, since it looked like they were trying to clean the building of any germs, and that maybe they'd be coming back in eventually.  From both the outside and the inside, it looked as if the building was only days away from being demolished, but we decided to wipe our fingerprints off of all of the things we had touched and then we left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108533064513849096?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108533064513849096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108533064513849096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/abandoned-tower.html' title='Abandoned Tower'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108475023994385672</id><published>2004-05-16T19:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-16T19:30:39.943-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Creature Pool Bookstore</title><content type='html'>I was shopping (again) in this small bookstore, which was almost more like a library than a store.  People were milling about, looking through books and magazines, but I found a doorway that went to the back room of the bookstore - and went through.  Directly behind this door was a hallway, with another set of doors which led to &lt;em&gt;another&lt;/em&gt; back room.  When I went through &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; door, I discovered a large dark room with a very big swimming pool inside.  The room was dark, other than being lit from the dim blue light coming from the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I noticed right away that this pool wasn't meant for swimming in...  it had lots of creatures in it.  They weren't normal fish or sharks or whatever, but more like prehistoric type eels and jellyfish.  There was a woman standing near the edge of the pool that explained to me how her sister was always very annoyed when she'd come over to swim, because the giant squids would always try to grab her.  As an example, she threw a small (regular) fish into the water, and the giant eels and squid quickly attacked and ate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was getting ready to head back out the door and into the bookstore again, when that same lady stopped me and showed me a 3-d hologram flip-book greeting card that her father had sent he from somewhere far away.  It was almost like a video greeting, when she made the flip book go it was lit up, and it had sound.  After I watched that, I went back into the bookstore.  A man saw me come out of the back doors there, and he tried to go back where I was.  I felt that this giant pool was supposed to remain a secret, so I did my best to prevent him from getting back there.  Once he was in the first back hallway, I was able to stop him and send him back out into the store.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108475023994385672?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108475023994385672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108475023994385672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/creature-pool-bookstore.html' title='Creature Pool Bookstore'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954640.post-108465838545882132</id><published>2004-05-15T17:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-16T06:03:21.046-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jim's Creepy Apartment</title><content type='html'>My friend Jim and I were shopping in a small town somewhere, along their main downtown road.  We went in to a store where you could rent a person for an hour, and that person had to make you whatever candy you wanted.  The place was full when we went in, but we read the catalog that showed you could have any kind of candy from chocolate covered peanuts to deep fried fig newtons.  The rental rate started at $120 an hour, but I suppose if you were making candy that whole time it'd be worth it.  *shrug*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We left the candy rental place and went out to the SUV, where I saw a woman getting in the back seat and leaving something behind.  I didn't look to see what it was yet, then me and Jim headed back to downtown Columbus to his apartment.  When we got there, I looked in the back seat and found that this woman had left behind a big wad of cash - which I quickly snatched up and took for myself.  It was night now, and Jim's apartment building was in an old abandoned section of the city - a big brick building, about 14 stories tall.  He parked a distance away from the building, so as we walked up to it we were approached by homeless people and other creepy folks.  One of them wanted my Cleveland Browns blanket that I was carrying, but luckily none of them noticed the big stack of cash that I also had in my hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it inside the old building, and made our way to one of the upper floors where his apartment was located.  Inside there was barely enough room for two people to be able to walk around, but his mom and grandma were both there.  Actually, it seemed that it might be &lt;em&gt;their&lt;/em&gt; apartment and Jim was just living there.  We made our way into the kitchen...  the floor was rotting and the refrigerator was nearly falling through.  His mom and grandma were fighting about something, but at the same time offering us something to eat.  The place was disgusting and smelled like old people, so we declined and made our way out as quickly as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I left, I was suddenly outside of my real house, and Misty was pulling up out front to pick me up for work.  She came up to the door and knocked, not realizing I'd already come outside and was coming around the side of the house.  When she saw me she pointed out that my car had a dent in it.  I looked, and sure enough, someone had smashed into the right rear of my car - knocking the wheel off the hub and smashing the crap out of my car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6954640-108465838545882132?l=rubbertoe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108465838545882132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6954640/posts/default/108465838545882132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rubbertoe.blogspot.com/2004/05/jims-creepy-apartment.html' title='Jim&apos;s Creepy Apartment'/><author><name>Rubbertoe</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
